'J?J'^ / 





U.S. NAVY /^ ES 
PO^S of the WC^LD ^ i 



NEW YORK CITY 




Published by ^ 

-. - BUREAU OF NAVIGATION no,.>--( d-v.r ) 
under authority of the 
Secretary of the Navy 




r / 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

:5CEIVED 

DOCUMENTS DiViSlON 




NEW YORK bK\ LINL 




Eight 



PHOTO TAKEN FROM U. S. S. "ARKANSAS." ANCHORED IN HUDSON RIVER, SHOWING NEW YORK'S FASHIONABLE 
RIVERSIDE DRIVE AND GRANT'S TOMB 




VIEW OF HUDSON RIVER FROM EMPIRE BLILDING-STEAMER "LA FRANCE" LEAVING NEW lOKK FOR EUROPE 



Nine 




77ih DIVISION PASSING THE PUBLIC LIBRARY 



T«i 



Contents 



Introduction ---- --...-15 

Hudson's Mutineers 19 

Revolutionary Days ----._.----.- 20 

The Cliff Dwellers - - - - 21 

A Saw-tooth Sky Line -------------25 

Dwellers in Gothain --..--..--.- 29 

Rivers and Bridges .............33 

Along Fifth Avenue ......._.._. 35 

Broadway at Night - - 38 

A Chinese Fantasy ------------- 44 

A Virtuous Bowery - ---47 

Greenwich Village -- 50 

On Riverside Drive -------....._52 

The Sound of Bells - - - - 55 

Wharves and Sliips - 57 

Arteries of Travel --. 63 

Theater and Opera -----66 

Midas & Co., Inc. ----- 68 

The Parks, Hotels ----......-.. 73 

Flotsam and Jetsam ............ 75 



Eleven 



Foreword 



INCE warships flying the American flag have made the world of 
waters their cruising grounds, and since they carry with them 
scores of thousands of seagoing Americans, the personal interest 
of the Nation in ports, far and near, is ever increasing in recent 
years. 

In order to furnish valuable information to officers and 
enlisted men of the Navy who visit these ports, the Bureau of 
Navigation is preparing individual guidebooks on the principal 
ports of the world. 

Although every effort has been made to include accurate information on 
the most important subjects connected with this port, it is realized that 
some important facts may have been omitted and that certain details may 
be inaccurate. Any information concerning omissions or inaccuracies, 
addressed to Guidebook Editor, Bureau of Navigation, will be appreciated. 
The information will be incorporated into revised editions. 

Acknowledgment is made to the National Geographic Society for its 
suggestions, both as to editorial policy and the interesting details concern- 
ing this port and its environs. 

Acknowledgment is also made to Pach Photo News, Western Newspaper 
Union, Army Air Service, Underwood & Underwood, and United States 
Navy for the following photographs, which are copyrighted. 



Thirteen 



Introduction 



1 


i 


1 


■ 



|HREE hundred years ago the site of modern New York City 
was occupied by a trading post, a few scattered dwellings, 
and wood, pasture, and marsh lands. It was the rendezvous 
of hunters, trappers, traders, and the copper-tinted sur- 
vivors of the Indian tribe — Manhatanis. Previous to the 
advent of the white man, the Manhatanis governed the 
tongue of land now known as Manhattan and The Bronx — 
whose roots are in Westchester County, and whose upper 
and lower jaws are the Hudson and East Rivers. To-day, New York is the 
largest city in the world, a port of entry and departure for thousands of 
ships, the richest city in the world, and the home of seven or eight millions 
of people, whose forefathers, for several generations back, were yet unborn 
when the first white man sailed up New York Bay. 

Where the red men mixed their war paints of colored clay and daubed 
the mixture on their leathery faces, milady now wields the lip stick and powder 
puff; where bronzed trappers and traders trod narrow trails, high-powered 
automobiles now speed over asphalt pavements; where Indian squaws 
ground maize and beaded leather garments for their warriors, great factories 
with smoke-belching chimneys and humming machinery now manufacture 



Fifteen 



goods for many nations ; and where birch and dugout canoes were paddled 
by hand in New York Harbor, ships of steel now churn the water into feathery 
spume, leaving oily wakes behind them. 

To compare the glory that was Rome's to the glory that is New York's 
is to compare the cockleshell ship, in which Henry Hudson sailed up the 
river, to the mighty ocean liners, which now go bellowing down the bay on 
their voyages to distant lands. Ancient writers who boasted of the wealth 
and splendor of their ancient cities would find, were they living, inexhaustible 
stores of material for more pretentious boasts in the achievements and 
growth of modern New York, almost a nation in itself, in wealth, in power, 
and in influence. 

Of first interest to a majority of visitors in New York are the tall build- 
ings, and of second interest are the people. There are many other sights to 
be seen and remarked upon in New York, of course; but the cloud-touching 
structures of steel, concrete, and glass, and the busy throngs of people which 
crowd the streets, constitute a sight which almost, if not quite, overwhelms 
the stranger. Skyscrapers, the restless but rather ordered stirring of 
humanity, the purring motors, the rumble of the elevated, the subdued roar 
of the subway, the "clang-clang" of the surface cars, the shriek of whistles, 
the hum of voices — all the commingling noises of a great city — beat on the 
eardrums of the observer. 



In New York, the American is better able than in any other city of the 
United States to visualize something of the greatness of his country. The 
charge is often made in other lands that Americans are much too ready to 
over-estimate their country or to compare it with other nations, invariably 
to the detriment of the latter. Such "charges" can hardly be sound, for 
Americans can seldom grasp the true greatness of their country. It is beyond 
understanding! The American, however, can realize to a certain extent the 
majesty of the country in which he lives by visiting its metropolis. So, 
just for the sake of education, let us bide there awhile. As Englishmen go 
to London, so should Americans go to the Empire City, the locality of super- 
latives, the speedometer of that smoothly running "motor" which is the 
United States of America. 



NEW YORK 




HUDSON'S MUTINEERS 

N IMPENDING mutiny on 
Henry Hudson's sailing 
vessel of 80 tons, the 
"Half-moon," brought 
about the discovery of the 
Hudson River and the 
first exploration by white 
men of the territory upon 
which the city of New York now stands. 
It happened in 1609. On March 25 of 
that 3'ear, Hudson sailed from Amsterdam 
in the employ of the Dutch East India Com- 
pany. He hoped to find a passage to the 
Spice Islands through the northeastern part 
of the American continent, expecting there- 
by to reduce the distance by water from 
the territories of trade in the Pacific, and 
assuring riches for his employers and himself. 
Arriving at Nova Zembla, some weeks 
after leaving Amsterdam, Hudson attempted 
the navigation of the Kara Strait. He ex- 
pected to find the Pacific by that route; 
but his crew found the cold weather not to 
their liking and openly threatened mutiny. 
Hudson, not in the least discouraged by the 
failure of his original plans, sailed south 





Looking North up Wts. 'Mn 

Docks and Iluilsun Kiv 

warm the chilled blood of his doughty crew. 
The "Half -moon" scudded and sulked in 
turn across the Atlantic. Hudson sighted 
land in the general locality of Nova Scotia; 
but, satisfied that the water route to the 

AHneUen 



\ E 



YORK 



Pacitio did not lie in that diavtiou, ho sailed 
farther south. 

(.■^n Soptetttbcr i2, looo. the "Half- 
moon" passed Sandy Hook, now the site of 
the princi^uvl defenses of New York City, 
enteaxi New York l>ay. sighted what is now 
Manhattan. Bnx->klyn. at\d Jei^ey City, and 
then ploughed up the river whieh was later 
to bear tlie name of its diseo\trer. After 
exploring the stawm to the present site of 
Albany, Hudson returned to Euaipe and 
announeed the discoxtry of a great ri^•er. 
"IVo years later he aguin x-cnturexi too far 
north for the eomfort of his erew and an- 
otlter mutiny threatened; tuially it mate- 
rialized: Hudson, his son, and seA-en others 
were^ east adrift in a small bixit; they were^ 
never foiuid; and so Het\ry Hudson, lia\-ing 
scrxxni his purjM^se. passes out of the story. 

Peter ^linuit. a Weslphalian. now occu- 
pies the eciUer of the stage for a tnoment. 
Finanecd by the Dutch \Vest India Com- 
pany, Mimiit pua-hased Manhattan Island 
fann the Indians for the price of $25. 
Both Mitmit and the Indians are Siiid to 
have been satistied with the transaction. 
Mimiit established on Manhattaji Island a 
combination of trading post and \-illagv, 



Tiotniij 



J(Wpv:y%.^ 



with a population of 200 white people, which 
was called New Amsterdam. About 25 
\-can> later, when New Amsterdam's popu- 
lation had ga^wn to i,ocx-', it was considered 
one of the most important settlements in 
the New World. The New Amsterdamers 
earned their livelihood by fanning, tmpping. 
and trading with the Indians who came from 
tlie unsettled regions of the west luid nortli, 
Peter Stuy\"esant gONxmed New Amster- 
dam fa>m 104- until 16(14. when the settle- 
ment was occupied by the English Colonel 
NiehoUs, It was soon revapturcd by the 
Dutch: but. in 1673, \\'as given over to Eng- 
land under the terms of an .Vnglo-Dutch 
taw IV 

RKVOIIVION.VRY PAYS 

i:\V AMSTERDAM be- 
came "New York" shortly 
after the British occupa- 
tion. It was so called in 
honor of tlie Duke of York, 
to whom Charles 11 had 
granted the pan-ince in 
w h i c h the to w n was 
In T71:;. the negToes of New York, 
luilf the population, K>se in 




NEW YORK 



insurrection against the local authorities. 
Before the insurrection was put down, 21 
negroes were executed, either by burning at 
the stake, by hanging, or by breaking on the 
wheel. Twenty-nine years later another dis- 
turbance over the race question brought 
about the death or exile of 4 whites and 
154 negroes. 

In the latter part of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, New York became one of the many 
colonial "hotbeds of rebellion" which made 
it a bit too warm for the uneasy occupants 
of the selfsame beds, and resulted in the 
vacation thereof and the independence to 
the Colonies. Delegates from nine of the 
thirteen Colonies met in New York in 1765 
to protest against the enforcement of the 
Stamp Act and other laws distasteful to the 
American people. The first blood of the 
American Revolution was shed in 1770, 
when soldiers attempted to destroy the 
"Liberty Pole" of the Sons of Liberty; and, 
six weeks later, the Boston massacre fore- 
told the start of the Revolution. New York, 
then with a population of 20,000, came to 
be a storm center of the rebellion, and its 
surrounding territories the scene of several 
battles between the ragged Colonials in buff 



"~llf 



and blue and the British troops in "red 
uniforms and pipe-clayed belts." 

Washington captured New York in 1 776 
but evacuated the town after the battles of 
Long Island and Harlem Heights. For 
seven years New York was the headquarters 
of the British Anny in the Colonies. When 
the British left in 1783, the Colonials again 
took possession; and since that time New 
York has prospered as an important part 
of these United States of America. 

THE CLIFF DWELLERS 

EW YORK is a city of man- 
made cliffs and canyons, 
whose maze of streets and 
crossings and courts are as 
bewildering to the stranger 
as the majestic puzzle of 
the Grand Canyon of the 
Colorado until he acquaints 
himself with the general plan on which the 
city is arranged; then he finds his way as 
easily as people who have lived in New 
York for, say, six months and who have 
come to regard themselves as natives. 

Tiitenty-One 




NEW YORK 




New York proper occupies Manhattan 
Island, the oldest, richest, and most popu- 
lous borough in the city. More people live 
in an average square mile of Manhattan 
than in the entire State of Nevada. Next 

Twenty-Two 



to Manhattan, Brooklyn is the largest 
borough. The Bronx, Queens, and Rich- 
mond follow, in point of population, in the 
order named. Brooklyn and Queens are 
south and east of Manhattan, being on Long 
Island and separated from Manhattan and 
The Bronx by the East River. Richmond 
is south on Staten Island. Jersey City, 
Hoboken, Newark, and other cities of New 
Jersey lie across the Hudson River to the 
west. These cities are a part of New York 
in spirit, if not in fact, since a large pro- 
portion of their citizens spend most of their 
waking hours in the metropolis. 

Streets and avenues in New York run 
at right angles, the streets east and west, 
and the avenues north and south (except 
in the old down-town section where the 
streets are in the habit of winding around 
with as much irresponsibility and freedom 
of fancy as the roller coasters on Coney 
Island). Broadway, another exception to 
the rule, follows an irregular course, pro- 
ceeding diagonally from the southeastern 
to the northwestern limits of the city, thus 
crossing nearly all the streets and avenues. 
New York is divided by Fifth Avenue into 
the West and East Sides, the east and west 



NEW YORK 



streets being numbered as we go north, 
commencing with Fourth Street. So all 
numbers of streets crossing Fifth Avenue 
are either " East " or "West." Blocks going 
north and south are shorter than the ordi- 
nary city blocks (about twenty of them to 
the mile). The blocks running east and west 
are longer, each of them as long as three or 
four short blocks. 

The following rule may be followed in 
locating the street nearest to a given num- 
ber: "Cancel last figure of given number, 
divide by 2, and add the key number." 
The key numbers are: First Avenue, 3; 
Second Avenue, 3 ; Third Avenue, 10; Fourth 
Avenue, 8; Fifth Avenue, 17; Sixth Avenue, 
6; Seventh Avenue, 12; Eighth Avenue, 9; 
Ninth Avenue, 13; Tenth Avenue, 14; Elev- 
enth Avenue, 15; Lexington Avenue, 22; 
Madison Avenue, 26; Park Avenue, 34; 
Columbus Avenue, 59; Amsterdam Avenue, 
59; and Broadway, (deduct) 30. For exam- 
ple, locate the street nearest 410 Third 
Avenue. The last figure is canceled, leaving 
41. This number, divided by 2, equals 20. 
And 20 plus 10 (the key number) equals 30. 
Therefore, Thirtieth Street is nearest 410 
Third Avenue. 




Times Square and Theatrical District 

Twenty- Three 



NEW YORK 




Times Square, the center of New York, 
is the point from which the traveler should] 

Twenty-Four 



begin his pilgrimages around the city. 
Man}' of the theaters, hotels, railway sta- 
tions, department stores, and shops are 
within short walking distances of the square. 

As New York is a city of cliffs and 
canyons, so a large proportion of the popu- 
lation can be listed as cliff dwellers — not in 
the sense that "cliff dwellers" is usually 
meant, of course; but in the modern sense, 
that is, skyscraper-ically speaking. In the 
morning, at noon, and again in the after- 
noon, the cliff dwellers fill the streets and 
avenues, subwaj's, surface cars, and elevated 
trains on their journeys to and from work. 
During the rush hour it seems that the 
entire population of the United States has 
been transferred bodily to the down-town 
districts of New York. The individual citi- 
zen can best understand his own insignifi- 
cance by walking or riding down Broadway, 
around Times and Herald Squares, Fifth 
Avenue, Forty-second Street, and near-by 
streets and avenues, or crossing Brooklyn 
Bridge during the rush hours. He realizes he 
is a very small part of that ferment called life. 

But where do all these people come 
from? A few moments before, the streets 
were filled, but not uncomfortably so. 



NEW YORK 



There were long lines of automobiles, but 
no traflic jams. There were many people 
hurrying along the sidewalks, but there was 
little jostling. And now, almost in the 
space of a few seconds it seems, the streets 
are crowded with tens and hundreds of 
thousands of people fighting for seats in 
subway, elevated, and surface cars. Traffic 
policemen turn themselves into human 
semaphores, laboring desperately to main- 
tain some semblance of order among the 
locust swarms of automobiles which descend 
upon them from all directions. And the 
hum of the city is like the droning of ten 
billion liees. 

A SAW-TOOTII SKY LINE 

HE answer in all probability 
has been guessed before 
now. They come, do these 
swarming, teeming mil- 
lions, from the man-made 
cliff dwellings, some of 
which rear their heads al- 
most to the clouds. The 
population of one of New York's tall build- 
ings is larger than that of many towns. 
Thev furnish shelter for hundreds of thou- 







Xi» Ynik Skv I.Inc 



sands of toilers. They are an American 
institution, a child of necessity, a product 
of American ingenuity. 

New York's sky line is at its best when 
seen from the Hudson River near the lower 
end of Manhattan Island. It presents a 
jagged, broken line, where roofs seem to 
meet the sky and almost pierce it. In the 
foreground are piers and ferryboat land- 
ings, continuall}' washed by the waters of 
the lower Hudson River ; farther back 
are shabby red brick buildings; and then 
in the middle ground and distance rise 

Twenty-Fire 



NEW YORK 




Singer Building (49 Stories) and City Investment 
Building, New York 

the skyscrapers, which, from a distance 
resemble rectangular combs of honey. 

On the left the Woolworth Building- 
tallest structure of its kind and the busi- 

Twenty-Six 




ness home of 12,000 persons — rears its 58 
stories above street level. It is 750 feet 
high, and, with the ground on which it 
stands and which should groan under its 
weight, even though it does not, cost over 
tAvelve million dollars. The two wings of 
the Woolworth Building resemble the arms 
and the high tower the back of a gigantic 
armchair. With slight alterations it might 
prove a comfortable seat for the gods. 

From the roof of the Woolworth Build- 
ing, the visitor, as if on the top of a high 
mountain, views the artificial canyons, val- 
leys, peaks, and rivers — whose waters are 
streams of men — spread out around him. 
In the night time, the Woolworth Building 
can be seen for a distance of 40 miles. It 
is far higher than the Tower of Babel 
could ever have become; and about its 
base is heard as varied a tangle of languages 
as that which discouraged the builders of 
the ancient temple. New Yorkers, evi- 
dently, are more persistent than the ancient 
babblers. 

South of the Woolworth Building stands 
the Singer Building whose tower resembles, 
in a way, a Mohammedan minaret. The 
Singer Building is 49 stories (612 feet) high. 



NEW YORK 




^\ool^^.>rtll Biiildinv I illcsl in ill. U >il>l riMdiict of 
Five and Ten Cent Pieces, New York 

Its weight is estimated at nearly 20,000 
tons. Still farther south, on Broadway, is 
the 38-storied Equitable Office Building, 
erected on the site of the old Equitable 
Building which was destroyed by fire i: 



191 2. Over 1 5,000 persons have office space 
in the building whose cost, including the 
land, was nearly thirty millions of dollars. 
At Wall and Nassau Streets the Bank- 
ers' Trust Company Building thrusts the 

Twenty-Seven 



NEW YORK 








The Municipal Building 

conical peak of its 39 stories just 540 feet 
above the sidewalk. At 60 Broadway 
stands a structure of one thousand and one 
offices, the Adams' Building, 32 stories. 
Adjacent to Battery Park at the southern 
tip of Manhattan Island are the Whitehall, 

Twenly-Eight 



Buildings, on Battery Place, between West 
and Washington Streets. The first build- 
ing of 20 stories cost a million dollars, 
while the second building, nearer the Hud- 
son River, is 32 stories high and cost be- 
tween four and five millions of dollars. 

Another of the famous skyscrapers in 
New York is the Metropolitan Life Insurance 
Building at i i\Iadison Avenue. It occupies 
the entire block between Twenty-third and 
Twenty-fourth Streets; its tower is 52 stories 
high, reaching 700 feet above the street. A 
unique feature of this building is the tower 
clock, whose chimes sound every 15 minutes 
during the hours of the day. By means of 
an additional contrivance, 15-minute periods 
are announced by flashes of light at night. 
The hands of the Metropohtan clock are 17 
feet and 13 feet in length; the figures of the 
dial are 4 feet high. 

The Hudson Terminal Buildings on 
Church Street, between Cortlandt and Ful- 
ton Streets, form the largest office building 
in the world, although they are not half as 
tall as several of the larger skyscrapers, being 
only 22 stories high. Nearly 20,000 Goth- 
ami tes occupy the office space in the two 
buildings. The Liberty Tower Building, in 



NEW YORK 



proportion to the ground space it occupies, 
has the largest office area of any building in 
New York. 

These buildings, with the New Municipal 
Building of 34 stories, which stands on Park 
Row, facing the Cit}^ Hall Park, are the 
structures which have made famous the 
saw-tooth sky line of New York City. There 
are many buildings of lesser height that 
would tower above those of other cities, but 
in New York their magnificence is obscured 
b)^ the masterpieces of architecture and engi- 
neering which reach so much higher into the 
sky than the}'. 

DWELLERS IN GOTHAM 

F THE traveler be of the 
observant type, he never 
tires of watching the end- 
less streams of humanity 
passing in continuous re- 
view before him, as he 
stands on a down-town cor- 
ner or sits on one of the 

green-painted benches in a down-town park 

in Gotham. 

Including their children, most of whom 

are American born, New York has more, 





New York City from Brooklyn Bridge 

Italians than Rome; more Irish than Dublin; 
more Germans than either Frankfort on the 
Main or Leipzig, and more Russians than 
any two large cities in Russia. In New York 
there are English, French, Spaniards, Mexi- 
cans, Chinese, Japanese, Turks, Syrians, Ar- 
menians, South Americans, Central Ameri- 
cans, Arabs, Indians, Hindoos, Belgians, 
Swedes, Danes, Nonvegians, Poles, Greeks, 
Bulgarians, Serbians, Austrians, and oth- 
ers — representatives of every civilized race 
on the face of the earth. They betray their 
nationalities by their appearance and dress, 
do these children of many races in the Me- 
tropolis of the American Republic. When 

Tirentij-Nine 



NEW YORK 



they think themselves unobserved they often 
write their thoughts, desires, and hopes on 
their faces, and he who reads is studying 
in a university of human nature. For the 
pleasure and education in it, let us sit for 
a half hour or so on a slatted bench in City 
Hall Park, or in one of the squares along 
lower Broadway — it hardly matters where — 
the same medley of races will obligingly pass 
in review for us in one park as well as in 
another. 

In a crowd of people, just as in a fleet of 
ships, the unusual attracts; the same is true 
of people. And in this review of a Gotham 
throng only the unusual will draw more than 
passing attention. So, now for the review 
of the "ships" in the "sidewalk fleet" of 
New York City. The first to pass is a red- 
haired man in a shiny black suit. He has a 
shrewd, wry look about his mouth, and his 
jowls are bristling with a two days' growth 
of beard. His blue eyes twinkle as he 
glances at the slip of a gray-eyed girl of lo, 
who clings to his arm as closely as a tugboat 
nosing the side of a liner. The girl is in 
gingham and shabby shoes. She is black 
haired and has a trail of freckles over the 
bridge of her nose. Her complexion is pink 

Thirty 





and white. A good venture is that the pair 
are straight from Dublin — or Cork — or Kil- 
larney. And the guess is almost confirmed 
when the man whistles a bar of ' ' The Wearin' 
o' the Green." 

Next comes a man with face burned red, 
and a walk like the roll of a ship. He wears 
a blue uniform with bell-bottomed trousers 
and a little white hat perched aft of the top 
of his head. Does he need identifying? 

' ' Flowers ! Flowers ! ! Flowers ! ! ! " A 
plaintive cry from a tiny old woman, who 
bends a little to one side under the weight 
of a basket of roses, violets, carnations, and 
sweet peas. "Flowers, sir?" "No." And 
she walks on, dragging one foot after the 
other with apparent eft'ort. By her olive 
complexion and her accent, she is Italian 
and probabl}' her heart is weary for the 
bright blue skies of her native land. 

A well-fed man with plump manicured 
■ fingers, and a certain air of brusque decisive- 
ness, hails a passing taxicab. As he seats 
himself he straightens his neatly tailored 
suit. "Wall Street," he says to the chauf- 
feur. Perhaps he is a broker, but you never 
can tell. His type is so numerous here- 
abouts. 



NEW YORK 



A man in a black cotton suit, with his 
shirt tails out and hanging almost to his 
knees, goes paddling along in black satin 
shoes with felt soles. We know Avithout 
looking at his face that it has a yellow tinge, 
that his eyes are oblique, that he would be 
talking in a sing-song voice if another of 
his race were with him. It's quite a dis- 
tance to Chinato^vn — he must have business 
down town. 

Two excitable, gesturing individuals, 
with snapping black eyes, walk along, a rod 
behind the Chinaman. They are short of 
stature, rather stockily built, and in civilian 
attire. "Que vous de ce qu'il nous a dit?" 
(It's been quite awhile since we've seen a 
Frenchman out of uniform.) 

A sailor, a marine, and a soldier walking 
together, an unusual sight. Then a shop- 
girl with faded stringy hair and tired eyes. 
But she has character in the set of her mouth 
and in the way she carries her chin. What 
does it matter if the high French heels are 
sadly lopsided and the scraggly feather boa 
around her neck dilapidated; by the ex- 
pression on her face, she is fighting her fight 
gamely and bravely. 




Then a painted woman, with a mask of 
powder on her face and a brazen stare. Her 
eyes are hard and bright, and she walks with 
a slouching swagger. Perhaps the red in 
her face isn't all paint; she is flushed a bit, 
too. Wonder if she is hungry. 

A smiling Filipino, and a sturdy, short- 
legged Japanese. Then one of that wonder- 
ful race, whose representatives make up 
nearly a fourth of the population of New 
York — a Jew- Next comes a brown-faced, 
sombre Hindoo in American clothing, iden- 
tified by his turban of snow-white linen. 
He is a curiosity, even in sophisticated New 
York, and people turn to stare at him. 

Then a blond, red-cheeked, blue-eyed 
man with square shoulders comes striding 
by. He carries a cane — pardon — a stick. 
It doesn't take long to list him. The British 
Isles aren't so far away, at that. 

A slender man in a suit of dazzling checks, 
a silk shirt of orange, browm, and green 
stripes, a brown derby, and patent leather 
shoes with fancy tops, saunters to a near-by 
bench, and proceeds to recline on his shoul- 
der blades. He smoothes his mustache with 
the handle of his Malacca cane, and yawns 
mightily. What occupation ? None. 

Thirty-One 



NEW YORK 



INext to liim sits a lorlom youth, appar- 
ently quite lonesome. He stares straight 
ahead with unseeing eyes. He wears no col- 
lar, and his blue serge suit is threadbare. 
His large muscular hands — like those of 
Lincoln — rest clenched on his knees. He is 
tanned, but he is not a seafaring man. By 
the looks of his hands, he must have handled 
an axe or guided a plow not so long ago. 
He was foolish to leave the old farm. Per- 
haps he is thinking of going back. 

Thirty- Two 



Two smartly tailored women, with trim 
silken ankles, pass by, laughing. They look 
neither to right nor left. They'll be on 
Fifth Avenue before many minutes. A 
chorus girl with bleached hair, a pug nosed 
Pekingese waddling along at her heels, 
flounces down on a bench across the way. 
Disregarding passers-by, she kicks off a Cin- 
derella-sized slipper. With a grimace of 
pain and annoyance, she bends over and 
holds the foot in both hands. "Gee," she 
says to the Pekingese, "I thought these 
shoes would be too large for me; and, now I 
can't take 'em back." The Pekingese pants 
a bit, lolling out his tongue in sympathy. 

A swarthy Mexican, with brown eyes, 
and a "bit of the devil" in them, flashes a 
white-toothed smile at the chorus girl. She 
sniffs, puts on her shoe, turns her back 
and walks toward Broadway, the Pekingese 
ambling after. Comes strolling an erect, 
gray-haired man, with a closely clipped 
mustache and a prosperous air about him, 
engrossed in his own thoughts — a business 
man probably. 

We might go on, forever, analyzing this 
parade of dwellers in Gotham; but there 
are other sights and places to visit — the 



NEW YORK 



Bowery, for example, and Chinatown, 
Broadway, the water front, the theaters, 
Coney Island, the bathing beaches, Green- 
wich ^^illage, Central Park, and other local 
institutions. So we leave our comfortable 
park bench and proceed to further enjoy our- 
selves in this most cosmopolitan of all cities. 

RIVERS AND BRIDGES 

ANHATTAN is bounded and 
invaded by a number of 
rivers and creeks, all of 
which empty into the At- 
lantic Ocean by way of 
New York Bay or Long 
Island Sound. The Hud- 
son River, on the west, and 
the East River are the most important; for 
if it were not for the lower stretches of the 
two rivers. New York could never have at- 
tained the position among the ports of the 
world to which it has arrived in the last 
century. But the rivers, although a bless- 
ing in one way, are a curse in another ; they 
have to be crossed. 

Persistent New Yorkers have found two 
ways to go about their business in Brooklyn 
and Jersey without riding on the ferryboats, 






Brooklyn Bridge, New York Side 

They have built bridges over the rivers, and 
bored tunnels under them ; and although the 
tunnels and bridges are somewhat crowded 
during the rush hours. New Yorkers -profess 
to be content with even a half-way victory 
over the Hudson and East Rivers. The 

Thirty-Three 



NE 



YORK 




From Flatiron Building — Northeast, past Madison 
Square to Queensboro Bridge (Right) 

Harlem River, which separates Manhattan 
Island from The Bronx, has also caused 
some annoyance, but the ten bridges span- 
ning it have solved the problem. The Bronx 

Thirty-Four 



River, which flows into the East River from 
beyond the city limits, near Van Cortlandt 
Park, Woodlawn Cemetery, and Bronx Park, 
has been spanned by a number of bridges. 

Best known of the bridges of New York 
is the Brooklyn Bridge, a twenty-one-million- 
dollar structure, connecting Manhattan Is- 
land with Brooklyn by way of Park Row 
and Sands Street. It was begun in 1870; 
opened to traffic 13 years later. It is 6,537 
feet long, 85 feet wide, and 135 feet above 
the water at the center of the span. Its 
towers are 278 feet above water level. The 
bridge is a mile and a quarter long. Its 
approach is near the Municipal Building, in 
City Hall Park. During rush hours traffic 
is invariably congested in the surrounding 
streets and avenues, for everyone seems to 
want to cross the bridge at the same mo- 
ment. Brooklyn Bridge can best be viewed 
from the top of the World Building. If the 
air is clear, the observer can see Battery 
Park, a mile to the south, Brooklyn across 
the river, and up Manhattan Island, which 
extends northward for a distance of 1 5 miles. 

Manhattan Bridge, the world's greatest 
suspension bridge, reaches from the Bowery 
at Canal Street to Flatbush Avenue in 



NEW YORK 



Brooklyn. Constructed in the eight years 
from 1 901 to 1909, its cost amounted to 
over $13,000,000. The four cables, swing- 
ing from two 336-foot towers to support 
the weight of the double decks, weigh nearly 
7,000 tons. The bridge is 8,655 f^et long, 
over 120 feet wide. The towers rest on 
piles of masonry which meet bedrock nearly 
100 feet below the water level. 

Williamsburg Bridge, begun in 1896 and 
completed in 1903, cost the city of New 
York nearly $25,000,000, but has saved the 
people many times that amount. Its length 
is 7,200 feet; its width, 118 feet; the height 
of the towers, 335 feet. The center of the 
bridge is 125 feet above the water line. 
Four trolley and two elevated tracks, two 
walks for pedestrians, and two roadways 
for automobiles and teams are open to 
traffic between Broadway, Brooklyn, and 
Delancey Street, Manhattan. 

Oueensboro Bridge at East Fifty-ninth 
Street in jNIanhattan, spans the East River, 
leaps over Blackwell's Island, and ends in 
Long Island City. It is a cantilever struc 
ture nearly a mile and a half long. Black 
well's Island, which furnishes support for 
two piers of the Queensboro Bridge, housesi 




the Metropolitan Hospital, the penitentiary, 
and the workhouse. 

Brooklyn, ^Manhattan, Williamsburg, and 
Oueensboro Bridges cost the city of New 
York over $100,000,000. They have a total 
length of nearly 6 miles and are crossed 
by nearly a million people a day. vStill they 
are inadequate to the needs of lusty, thriv- 
ing, growing New York. Among the other 
bridges, Hell Gate Bridge is one of the best 
known. It consists of a single steel arch, 
1,000 feet in length — the longest in the 
world. 

ALONG FIFTH AVENUE 

ASHINGTON Arch, a me- 
morial commemorating the 
inauguration of George 
Washington as the first 
President of the United 
States in New York, 1779, 
marks the beginning of 
Fifth Avenue, which runs 
from Fourth Street for a distance of several 
miles, touching Central Park, bisecting 
Mount Morris Park and ending in the north- 
em part of Manhattan at Harlem River. 
The lower sections of Fifth Avenue have 

Thirty-Five 




NEW YORK 




Forty-second 
and 

Thirty-Six 



Street from Fifth Avenue, Bush Terminal 
Times Building in Background 



been transformed, in the space of a few 
short years, from a residential district occu- 
pied by soUdly respectable houses, with 
brownstone fronts, to the most fashionable 
shopping district of New York, and, there- 
fore, the most fashionable shopping district 
of the world. 

A majority of the buildings on Fifth 
Avenue are not tall compared to the sky- 
scrapers near by. If they are tall, they seem 
to be discreet about it, and polite and unob- 
trusive. They have something of the air 
of the footmen in livery, who help their 
mistresses in silks, Russian sables, and 
lorgnettes in and out of their 12 -cylinder 
limousines on their way to visit the Fifth 
Avenue shops. In the shops, soft-spoken, 
neatly-dressed clerks coil hundred-thousand- 
dollar pearl necklaces on velvet cloths for 
inspection and sale. On Fifth Avenue, 
gowns and hats frorti Paris, or possibly from 
the East Side, are properly appreciated and 
disposed of with ease, even though each is 
marked with a price which would take away 
the breath of anyone except a millionairess. 

Fifth Avenue has — polish. Even the 
traffic policemen have a genteel air about 
them, strangely different from the brusque 



NEW YORK 



manner of the policemen dowTi in the 
Bowerv, or even on Broadway. Their uni- 
forms seem to be tailored; their manner 
metropolitan; the movement of their hands 
as they direct traffic nonchalant. It's in 
the air on Fifth Avenue — this polish. And 
we dare say that if we were to spend a great 
deal of our time there for a week or two, we 
would acquire some of it. 

Probably the most popular specialty- 
shop district in New York extends from 
Thirtieth Street to Fifty-ninth Street on 
Fifth Avenue. . Here the jewelry, lingerie, 
lace, millinery, perfume, and stationery 
shops reign supreme. Trucks and wagons 
may not turn a wheel on the smooth asphalt 
pavement of this district, lest they enact 
the role of monkey wrenches in the smoothly- 
running machinery of traffic. And, are there 
surface and elevated lines on Fifth Avenue ? 
■Oh, perish the thought! Adjoining the spe- 
cialty shop district around Fifty-third Street 
and Fifth Avenue, is one of the most aristo- 
cratic residential sections of the city. George 
W. Vanderbilt pays taxes on the double 
brownstone mansions just above Fifty-third 
Street on the west side of the avenue. Cor- 
nelius Vanderbilt's home (built on tli( 





Public Library, Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, 
New York 

French chateau style) a few blocks beyond 
has been recently sold for commercial pur- 
poses. On the east side of Fifth Avenue 
is Millionaire's Row. Scores of American 
men of wealth own homes in this district. 
There is an air of quiet dignity about the 
mansions on ^lillionaire's Row — in decided 
contrast with the bustling, hurried atmos- 
phere of the business sections just a few 
blocks away. 

By all means, the stranger should ride 
on a Fifth Avenue 'bus. He can hardly 

Thirty-Seven 



NEW YORK 




From Empire Building — North, past Trinity St 
up Broadway, New York 

claim to have seen New York unless he 
climbs by the spiral stainvay to the "upper 
deck" of one of these land ships and rides 
in state along the avenue. The 'bus routes 
run from Washington Square, and for a, 

Thirty-Eight 



land, 



reasonable fare, the passenger can ride past 
Central Park, across the city west to the 
Hudson River, returning by way of River- 
side Drive. The Fifth Avenue 'bus is as 
much of an institution in New York as the 
sedan chair in Canton or Hongkong, the 
gondola in Venice, the jinrikisha in Japan, 
the "seagoing" hack in Washington, the 
elephant in Ceylon, or the camel in the 
Sahara Desert. It is part of the local color 
and, as such, should be patronized by the 
visitor. 

BROADWAY AT NIGHT 

EW YORKERS are deeply 
in debt to one of their 
thoroughfares — Broadway. 
Broadway has done more 
to make Gotham famous 
than any other of its insti- 
tutions — more even than 
Fifth Avenue, Coney Is- 
the skyscrapers, or Central Park. 
The down town portion of Broadway has 
two names. In the daytime it is just 
Broadway ; at night it shines under an alias, 
or rather a nom de plume — it is the Great 
White Way. 




NEW YORK 



When the gods throw open the furnace 
doors of the sun and permit Hght and heat 
to flood our side of the earth, Broadway is 
much hke other down town thoroughfares 
in New York City. It is not until the 
evening hours that it comes into its own; 
and then, until the wee sma' hours of the 
morning, when the milkman's cart clatters 
over the cobblestones of the East Side, 
Broadway swims in a sea of artificial light. 
Gigantic signs flash and flicker — they spell, 
draw, and act. Now, Paris may boast of 
her boulevards; Monte Carlo may tell of her 
pavilions where men with flushed faces 
watch the ivory ball as it spins on the 
roulette wheel; California may talk "cli- 
mate"; and Japan may discuss chrysanthe- 
mums and purple azaleas ; but we Anaericans 
prefer Broadway. That is, most of us do. 
The Great White Way has reached that 
stage of fame where it belongs not only to 
New York, but to the American people. 

Broadway begins at Bowling Green and 
runs north to Yonkers, a distance of 19 
miles. Lower Broadway runs straight to 
Eighth Street — in front of Wanamaker's 
department store — where there is a turn in 
it; then it becomes upper Broadway. It 




Farragut Statue, Madison Square, New York 

passes Madison Square at Twenty-third and 
Twenty-fourth Streets, barely misses clip- 
ping a corner from Central Park at Colum- 
bus Circle, fraternizes for a few blocks with 
Riverside Drive, passes Columbia Univer- 
sity, glimpses the Hudson River, slips 
quietly through Trinity Cemetery, invades 
Washington Heights, and curves and curls 
around the northern portion of Manhattan 
Island. Undaunted by the Harlem River 
and vSpuyten Duyvil Creek, Broadway 
crosses them on a bridge bearing its own 

Thirty-Nine 



NEW YORK 




Ilaliion Buildmi;, Louking Soutli, New York 

name. It skirts Van Cortlandt Park and 
ventures beyond the city limits of New 
York and to Tarrytown, where it stops — 
seemingly weary after its long journey from 
Bowling Green. 

Forty 




Broadway is rather a versatile thorough- 
fare. In its lower reaches it is more or less 
trim and business-like. When it becomes 
at night the Great White Way from Times 
Square to Columbus Circle, Broadway is on 
amusement bent. Along Riverside Drive 
Broadway becomes more dignified — is posi- 
tivelv intellectual in appearance at Colum- 
bia Ijniversity; near the Convent of the 
Sacred Heart it has a very respectful and 
solicitous air. Upon entering Trinity Ceme- 
terv, Broadway so changes its appearance 
that the stranger would never know it is 
the same street which, at the same moment, 
figuratively speaking, is kicking up its heels 
in the theatrical district eight or ten miles 
below. At the Harlem River, Broadway 
seems to be more or less nervous and appre- 
hensive — appears to be picking up its skirts 
as it crosses the river, for all the world 
like an old lady stepping over a mud puddle. 
Up by Van Cortlandt Park, Broadway is 
in harmony with the pastoral and woodland 
scenes along its route. Beyond the city 
limits, near Yonkers, Broadway is positively 
rural. Without a doubt, Broadway may be 
regarded as being one of the most versatile 
thoroughfares in the world. 



NEW YORK 



The best time to begin a visit to Broad- 
way is in the late afternoon, when the after- 
office-hour crowd have melted, and the 
dusky fringes of twilight are just beginning 
to penetrate the city. The never-ending 
flow of traffic is still flooding the streets 
and avenues; but the perennial throngs of 
strollers-on-Broadway-at-night are still at 
their dinners, and the streets are just com- 
fortably filled with people. It is the quiet 
hour before New York flocks to its most 
famous thoroughfare for an evening of 
pleasure, and, possibly, forgetfulness of the 
day's troubles. 

The twilight grows; lights flash in stores 
and office buildings; the shadows of night 
flow into the canyon which is Broadwav. 
Automobile headlights flare and fade as 
dimmers are put off and on. There are 
long strings of red lights down Broadway — 
tall lights of automobiles as they creep 
along in the throes of a traffic jam. Lights 
at the traffic policemen's stations are alter- 
nately red and green. Shadowy forms of 
men and women constantly appear and 
disappear like ships in the fog. The mur- 
mur of traffic is everywhere mingled with 
the hum of voices. 





Lower New York from the Air 

Broadway, by the middle of the even- 
ing, is again filled with its streams of hu- 
manity. People jostle each other, but 
none of them seems to mind it. The more 
agile skip spryly aside as the stolid or deter- 
mined bear down upon them. One impulse 
seems to govern the evening crowds on 
Broadway — "Keep going!" If an indi- 
vidual does not desire to "keep going," 
he must edge out of the human stream 

• Forty-Otu. 



NEW YORK 



and take refuge in store, theater, or auto 
mobile, else he will be carried along by the 
crowds which, like time and tide, wait for 
no man — unless he be a traffic policeman 

And then, at the stated hour, Broad- 
way from Times Square to Columbus Circle 
abandons its daytime name. It becomes 
the Great White Way. More lights, it 
seems, than in all the rest of the world 
flash on and oflf, among them all the colors 
of the rainbow. One sign, with fifteen or 
twenty thousand lights, extols the merits 
of a certain brand of cigarette. Another 
advertises the popularity of a widely- 
known make of automobile tire. A third 
portrays the countenance of a famous 
actress. Still others flash the names of 
internationally-known theaters and shows. 
Another, in letters several feet high, patiently 
repeats the name of a popular breakfast food. 

Americans, although they think highly 
of the Great White Way, usually take it 
for granted; but visitors from other coun- 
tries often find it difficult to see the need 
for such a lavish display of light. A story 
often told on Broadway illustrates their 
attitude: A New Yorker entertaining an 
Englishman took his guest down on the 

Forty- Two 





Great White Way. "That sign," said the 
New Yorker, pointing to a particularly 
dazzling group of lights, "is the largest in 
the world. I expect there must be two 
hundred thousand electric light bulbs in it." 
The Englishman gazed at the sign a moment, 
then exclaimed, "But my dear man, don't 
you think it's frightfully conspicuous?" 

From early in the evening until early in 
the morning, the Broadway trail is marked 
bv its blaze of lights. The crowds grow as 
midnight approaches; men and women 
stroll up and down the Great White Way, 
apparently ignoring the electric display, 
but actually basking in its splendor. They 
feel at home. They are in their element. 
The theaters receive their audiences and 
release them again after two or three hours 
of make-believe. The tide of humanity 
ebbs and flows. There is song and laughter, 
and perhaps a few tears. The Great White 
Way is strongly in favor of the first two, 
but intolerant of the latter; for there is a 
time to laugh and a time to weep, and 
Broadway at night is no place for bother- 
some troubles and sorrows. Folks are there 
to enjoy themselves, and they do, even if 
their enjoyment is a bit artificial at times. 



NEW YORK 



Two hours or so after midnight, when 
the crowds have thinned and only the in^ 
curable habitues of the Great White Way 
and visitors from out-of-town who can not 
seem to see enough of it are left to v.alk or 
ride on the thoroughfare, the lights begin 
to fade ; and, before the coming of the dawn, 
Broadway is nearly deserted. The chill of 
morning is in the air; a subway train going 
along under foot rouses the echoes. A 
policeman yawns and very probably thinks 
of the cup of hot coffee he will drink before 
turning in. A taxicab dashes up the street, 
the driver keeping an eye out for passengers. 
A trio of men in top hats and evening 
clothes, eyes heavy with lack of sleep, 
stand on the corner gazing at the lines of 
gray store fronts on either side. Comes 
the sound of a steamboat whistle, its soft 
tones softened by distance. And, as a 
iinger of crimson light shoots over the build- 
ings, announcing the nearness of dawn, the 
Great White W'ay drops its nocturnal name, 
and becomes again just — Broadway. 

Besides being the theatrical center of 
New York, Broadway is also the subway 
center of the city. Under the Times 
Building is a subway station from which 




Museum of Natural History, New York 

the traveler can reach any station in the 
extensive dual subway system either in the 
uptown or down-town districts, in IManhat- 
tan, Brooklyn, The Bronx, or Queens. A 
majority of the sight-seeing cars start from 
Broadway also. Day and evening cars 
visit the principal places of interest in 
Manhattan, and also go to Coney Island — 
a 15-mile trip. In addition to pointing out 
the sights, the megaphone wielders on the 
sight-seeing cars pour supposedly humorous 
remarks into the ears of their audience. 

Forty-Three 



NEW YORK 




A CHINESE FANTASY 

OST picturesque of all the 
many districts in New 
York, where natives of 
other lands take root and 
live their lives, is China- 
town, the abode of several 
hundreds of yellow men, 
most of whom still ob- 
serve the traditional customs of their native 
country. Mott Street is the principal 
thoroughfare of Chinatown. The second, 
and only other, is Pell Street, which crosses 
Mott Street near Chatham Square. Mott 
and Pell Streets together furnish sufficient 
attractions to make a half-a-day in their 
joss houses, mission house, crooked alleys, 
and characteristic eating places, all too 
short for the visitor's satisfaction. Al- 
though not as picturesque as San Fran- 
cisco's Chinatown, Mott and Pell Streets 
have the true oriental atmosphere, which 
includes squalor and the odors of incense 
and decaying vegetables. The Chinese have 
become fully accustomed to tourists, and 
their manner toward visitors is polite 
enough, while charging generous prices for 
their curios. 

Forty-Four 




Years ago, when the sight of a police- 
man's uniform inspired not fear but con- 
tempt in the hearts of the denizen's of this 
section, a visit to Chinatown was welcomed 
only by the adventurous. There were fre- 
quent wars between tongs; hatchet men 
were in the habit of burying the edges of 
their murderous weapons in the brains of 
their tong foes; there were gun fights on the 
roofs of Chinatown; opium and gambling 
dens were in the heydey of their prosperity ; 
and stories were whispered of unbelievable 
crimes in the secret tunnels which were 
said to run underground like rabbit bur- 
rows. But times have changed since then. 
Policemen are looked upon with respect in 
Chinatown; the tongs get along without 
open warfare; the hatchet man has dis- 
appeared; guns bark occasionally in Mott 
or Pell Street, but not with such disturb- 
ing regularity as before; the opium dens 
have vanished, and the secret tunnels 
have been filled in or opened for tourists. 
Chinatown has reformed and is now fairly 
virtuous. 

The joss house on Mott Street between 
Bayard and Chatham Square remains the 
most typically oriental spot in Chinatown. 



NEW YORK 



As the visitor climbs the wooden steps to the 
second floor of the building which contains 
the joss house, he is greeted by a jumble of 
whining music, produced from strangely 
fashioned instruments in the yellow talons 
of almond-eyed individuals who peer at 
him from behind half -closed doors. "Oh- 
oh-ah-ah-e-e-e-e-oh-ah-oh-e-e-e— e-e ' ' — 
and it develops that the Chinese band is 
singing and playing for the benefit of the 
stranger or party of strangers ascending 
the rickety steps. With the singsong voices 
ringing in his ears, the visitor follows the 
guide, who halts in front of a door splashed 
with soiled paint and impressively announces 
that, "Now we are about to enter the 
fa-a-a-mous joss house of New York's 
Chinatown." His information is hardly 
needed if one's sense of smell is in working 
order, for the cracks around the door — 
and around the keyhole — furnish orifices 
through which thin acrid clouds of incense 
smoke seep into the hall. A suave China- 
man in black cotton shirt and trousers and 
velvet slippers welcomes the visitor at the 
door, waving him blandly into the ])lace of 
worship. The room is lighted only by a 
few small windows and a flickering candle., 



Tiny points of red prove to be the burning 
sticks of incense, the heavy odor of which 
is almost overpowering — nauseating. In a 
niche back of the altar sits a fat, gilded 
Confucius with drooping eyelids. His face 
is almost a counterpart of that of the 
keeper of the joss house. In front of the 
god are dishes containing sacrificial food. 

A few red prayer papers are scattered 
around the room, and a box of prayer sticks 
stand on the altar. The gilded altar is an 
amazingly intricate piece of workmanship. 
Only a patient Chinaman could keep at work 
until he had completed the carvings that 
adorn it. The guide states impressively 
that two generations of a Chinese family 
devoted their lives to making the altar — 
and adds that a New York millionaire of- 
fered a small fortune for it, but that his 
offer was refused. In the room below the 
Chinese orchestra still crashes out its weird, 
uncanny music, and through the windows 
which open on a balcony drifts the mystic 
murmur of singsong voices. A bulletin 
board on the wall, between dusty red hang- 
ings, is plastered over with long strips of 
red paper inscribed with Chinese characters. 
The guide explains that they are placed 

Forty- Five 



NEW YORK 



there out of respect to the deceased mem 
bers of the Chinese colony. 

The Chinaman in charge shufHes over 
the bare floor, with a world-weary look on 
his saffron face, to open a glass case and set 
out curios for sale. The prospective cus- 
tomer proceeds to examine the articles of- 
fered him for sale. There are carved ivory 
images of Confucius, Chinese "cash," lac- 
quered boxes, paper fans, small monkeys 
modeled in clay, ebony chop sticks, and 
other Chinese curios. The keeper of the 
joss house whispers their price. The visitor 
falls back aghast, but usually buys. 

From the balcony the spectator can view 
short stretches of "Singsong Street" on 
either side of him. Area ways are filled 
with banners written over with gold, red, 
and black characters. Paper lanterns sway 
in the breeze which rustles the leaves on a 
row of dwarfed trees in pots on the balcony. 
Several Chinamen, with hands in sleeves, 
glide along the street with amazing agility. 
A door slams in one of the drab, dingy 
buildings across the way. In summer, the 
hot sun beats down on Chinatown with a 
cruel, remorseless persistence; heat waves 
dance on the tar roofs. The visitor longs 

Forty-Six 




for a drink of cold water as he never longed 
for it before. 

In the Chinatown mission the stranger 
is permitted to sit on the benches worn 
smooth as polished glass. He is told that 
the mission at one time was a Chinese thea- 
ter; but that the police closed it, until it 
was taken over by the mission. He walks 
down a winding stairway into an under- 
ground tunnel with secret exits and en- 
trances. He is shown a dark corridor where 
members of hostile tongs are reputed to 
have met and sent the humming death at 
one another. At last reaching the street, 
he decides that the sun looks good, even if 
it is so confoundedly warm. 

The most popular restaurant in China- 
town is the Port Arthur; but there are 
others where the stranger can absorb some- 
thing of the Chinese atmosphere and ac- 
quaint himself with the most peculiar Chi- 
nese odors. They seem to be everywhere 
in the streets, these tenacious odors; the 
visitor can smell them a week after he has 
concluded his visit in Chinatown. When 
he leaves this bit of Orient behind and ar- 
rives on the neighboring Bowery, the 
stranger feels that he has been traveling in 



NEW YORK 



a strange country for many months ; he finds 
it difificult to believe that he has not been 
a-dreaming. Now, the Bowery isn't ideal, 
by any means, and the trains make a bother- 
some roar overhead ; but, still it is Ameri- 
can, and the sight-seer is content. He has 
returned to his own people. 

A VIRTUOUS BOWERY 

HE Bowery also has re- 
formed in recent years. 
We have the word of the 
New York police depart- 
ment for it, and the word 
of numerous writers. Also 
the verbal affidavits of 
many old-time residents of 
the district, who bemoan the passing of the 
"good old days." When New York was 
first settled, the East Side district now 
occupied by the Bowery was apportioned 
as farm lands or "bouweries" among the 
Dutch farmers who emigrated to the set- 
tlement. "Bouwerie" became Bowery Lane, 
then the Boston Post Road, and later the 
Bowery. It extends from Chatham Square, 
north to Cooper Union, where Third and 
Fourth Avenues diverge. In former years 



^& 




it was an abode of saloons, shooting galleries, 
concert gardens, dives, dime museums, ques- 
tionable theaters, and lodging houses; but 
now the Bowery has been turned into a 
strictly business district. Fifty years ago, 
the notorious "Bowery Boys," by a policy 
of terrorism, ruled their own district and 
portions of adjoining territory. They de- 
fied the police, ran local politics, and made 
an all-round nuisance of themselves. With 
the passing of the "Bowery Boys" the 
Bowery began to reform. 

Park Row, where a majority of the 
metropolitan newspapers are published, is 
west and slightly south of the Bowery, bor- 
dering on City Hall Park, near the Brooklyn 
Bridge. Beyond the newspaper offices, in 
Printing House Square, stands a statue of 
Franklin. In front of the Tribune building 
is the bronze statue of Horace Greeley, one 
of the foremost of American journalists. In 
the vicinity of Division Street the visitor 
finds the so-called "Pushcart District," 
where enterprising merchants, most of them 
of foreign birth, sell their wares in street and 
alley. In this lower East Side the visitor 
gets a blurred impression of hot, dusty 
streets, and swarms of dirty children 

Forty-Seven 



NEW YORK 




playing under the hoofs of patient horses. 
Frowsy women in kimonos lean over the 
fire escapes to exchange gossip with their 

Forty-Eight 



neighbors across the way. There is a con- 
tinual, never-ending roar of voices. Per- 
spiring individuals in shirt sleeves rush in 
and out of doorw^ays, shake their fists in each 
other's faces, slap their children with re- 
sounding smacks, light their cigarettes, 
snufl: their tobacco, sit in their stocking feet 
on the front stoop, snift' the odor of corned 
beef and cabbage from the house across the 
way, go to the movies, exchange views on 
politics and prohibition, and, altogether, 
seem to live a happy, care free, irresponsible, 
and enviable sort of existence. The cost 
of living is fairly low in the East Side, and 
wages are good, so the people there find 
little cause for complaint. The East Side, 
even more congested than the Limehouse 
district in London, boasts of more popula- 
tion per block than any other district in the 
world, excepting perhaps some parts of 
China. Over 3,000 persons live in a single 
block at Forsyth and Christy Streets, and 
seem to experience little discomfort in 
doing so. 

Out of the East Side come some of the 
most valued citizens of New York — finan- 
ciers, scientists, writers, merchants. In the 
World War, the East Side proved that it 



NEW YORK 



could and would send men as brave as any 
others to fight for their country. It sent 
thousands of them — sailors, marines, and 
soldiers. Many a Distinguished Ser\ace 
Cross went to men in American uniforms 
who claimed the Lower East Side as their 
homes. Many nationalities are represented 
in the overflowing districts of the Hast Side. 
There are numerous foreign quarters, which 
often overlap their old boundaries to mingle 
with the "quarters" of other races. For 
example. Park Row beyond Printing House 
Square and Baxter Street is occupied for 
the most part by Jewish merchants and their 
families. The Bowery proper is the home 
of tens of thousands of people of Polish and 
German descent. The market and Seward 
Park is the center of the Russian and Aus- 
trian Jewish quarter — the Ghetto. Mul- 
berry Street is usually redolent with the 
odor of garlic and spaghetti. And there are 
other quarters, some large and some small, 
tenanted by Greeks, Syrians, Spaniards, and 
other people speaking languages not native 
to these United States of America. 

On the East Side the melting pot is boil- 
ing, trying all the raw material which comes 
its way, proving some to be pure gold and, 




Pushcart District in Italian Quarter 

worthy of American citizenship, and casting 
some aside as dross and slag. In the hands 

Forty-Niyie 



NEW YORK 




of these people rests much of the future wel- 
fare of the Nation, and they are obviously 
proving themselves worthy of the trust. 

GREENWICH VILLAGE 

IREENWICH Village cen- 
ters at Sheridan Square, 
extends from Washington 
Square west to Hudson 
Street and from Fourth to 
Fourteenth Streets. It is 
the Latin Quarter — the 
Bohemia — of New York. 
In the course of the last few years Green- 
wich Village has acquired fame. It has its 
peculiarities just as Fifth Avenue or China- 
town or Harlem, and a study of these, and 
the villagers, is most interesting. The vil- 
lage has a picturesque quality of color and 
daring. It has been accused of being more 
or less eccentric, and the rendezvous of "in- 
tellectual nuts," just as Madison Square is 
said to be a gathering place for "political 
nuts." However, such accusation is not 
wholly warranted when directed at Green- 
wich Village, so the reader should not believe 
it. We are assured by dyed-in-the-wool 

Fifty 





villagers that Greenwich Village is as sane 
as Wall Street. "There may be individuals 
in Greenwich Village who may be classed as 
eccentrics, but that is not the village's fault; 
it just happened that way," they say. 

Greenwich Village is a small community 
set down in the midst of tall buildings which 
tower above it on all sides. Many attempts 
have been made by New York business to 
encroach upon it; but most of the moves 
have been doomed to failure by the villagers, 
who cling desperately to their homes and 
ways of living. There are two classes of 
people in the village — the doers and the 
dreamers. The doers are professional folk — 
writers, musicians, playwrights, poets, and 
painters, for the most part. The dreamers 
are indolent persons of eccentric habits, who 
bob their hair, wear flowing ties, and spend 
most of their time in queer little resorts, 
whose names, oddly zoological, resemble the 
following: "The Sign of the Purple Frog," 
"The Lavender Cat," "The Pink Canary," 
"The Sign of the Green-eyed Cow," or "The 
Red Mouse Inn." Most of the gathering 
places of this sort are located in cellars, or 
garrets, where there is the proper amount of 



NEW YORK 



darkness and dampness. The rooms are 
lighted by candles stuck in tallow-smeared 
bottles and old candlesticks. A short-haired 
girl in a Russian blouse smokes cigarettes 
and chatters of bolshevism, futurism, and 
free verse to the solemn individual with long 
hair who sits mutely across the way. If 
there is a piano it is usually shrieking with 
pain under the relentless pounding of a 
youth with dreamy, long-lashed eyes, and a 
habit of singing "Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt." 
Very frequently the village is startled by 
the news that one of its dreamers has actu- 
ally "made good" and is on the road to fame 
via the paint brush or inkwell. Then it is 
time for the dreamer's friends to celebrate, 
either with a visit to "The Sign of the Pur- 
ple Frog," or to the Greenwich Village the- 
ater, where usually excellent plays are pre- 
sented by the local talent of the village. 
However, most of the lasting fame acquired 
by Greenwich Village comes as a result of 
its association, in the public mind, with 
writers, poets, and artists, who live in the 
village " to work and not to play." O. Henry, 
for example, wrote a good many of his, 




Fifty-One 



NEW YORK 




W.irsliips -.uul riensiirc ('rait in Hudson River; 
SoliliLrs' and Sailors' Monument in Foreground 

stories there, and other writers, poets, 
artists, and actors of genius lived, and others 
still live, in this American " Latin Quarter." 

Fifty- Two 



ON RIVERSIDE DRIVE 

IVERSIDE Drive, extending 
from Seventy-second Street 
to One hundred and twen- 
ty-seventh Street, in close 
cominunion with the hills 
bordering on the Hudson 
River, is one of the many 
promenades of New York. 
From the drive the visitor catches en- 
trancing glimpses of the wide reaches of 
the Hudson to the west, and on the other 
side the miles of buildings, which mark 
one of the aristocratic residential sections 
of upper Manhattan. Both private resi- 
dences and apartment houses line River- 
side Drive for a distance of many blocks, one 
of the most prominent of the houses being 
the Schwab mansion, between Seventy-third 
and Seventy-fourth Streets. It is modeled 
after a French chateau of the sixteenth cen- 
tury and contains one of the largest organs 
in the United States. 

On the bluff overshadowing the Hudson 
at Eighty-ninth Street, stands the Soldiers' 
and Sailors' Monument, erected in 1902, in 
honor of the sailors and soldiers who fought 



NEW YORK 



for the preservation of the Union in the 
Civil War. The monument, built of white 
marble in the form of a great temple, has 
Corinthian columns with a frieze of Ameri- 
can eagles. A replica of Houdon's statue 
of George Washington is in front of the 
monument. The original, which Washing- 
ton himself is said to have seen and ap- 
proved, is in the State capitol at Richmond, 
Virginia. An old colonial mansion, whose 
quiet beauty is in strange contrast to the 
modem buildings around it, sits at the cor- 
ner of the drive and Ninety-ninth Street. 
At the intersection of One hundred and 
sixth Street there is a statue of Franz Sigel 
(of Civil-War fame), whose men considered 
it glory enough to be able to say "I fought 
mit Sigel." General .Sigel was a German 
by birth and most of his troopers were 
"ex-Germans," who fled from Prussian op- 
pression to wear the Union blue in fighting 
for the country of their adoption. 

Grant's tomb, on Claremont Heights, 
overlooking the Hudson, is the most splen- 
did memorial structure in the city. It is 
made of white granite, is 150 feet high, and 
furnishes a fitting tomb for the body of the 
Union general and ex-President of the United 






s 



■:"W*^" 





(>r.inl\ i mill) ,iml Uiidson River 

States. The tomb is in the form of a monu- 
ment; the lower story in the Gothic style, 
surmounted by a cupola flanked by slender 
Ionic columns. A broad walk leads from 
the drive to the tomb and encircles it. 
Spacious steps rise from the walk to the 

Fifty- Three 



NEW YORK 




Cathedral of St. John the Divine, St. Luke's Hospital, 
and Morningside Park 

entrance, and passing under the huge pillars 
at the door of the tomb the visitor glimpses 
the quiet room where lies the body of the 
soldier and statesman. A red porphyry sar- 
cophagus, containing Grant's body, rests in. 

Fifty- Four 




an open crypt under the dome. Beside it 
is a second sarcophagus, inclosing the body 
of the general's wife. Parts of the dome are 
decorated with reliefs portraying events in 
the life of Grant. Two rooms in the tomb 
are graced by faded battleflags carried by 
regiments under Grant's commands in the 
Civil War. 

The tomb is more beautiful in the even- 
ing than in the day. Then the severe lines 
of the structure are softened by the dusky 
shadows of night; and, at intervals, the 
white granite surface of the tomb reflects 
the mild light of the moon, which also throws 
a silver rug of light across the waters of the 
Hudson River. Silence, brooding over the 
tomb, is broken only by the purring of auto- 
mobile motors on the drive, the moaning of 
the wind through the trees at the water's 
edge, and the far-away keening of a steam- 
boat whistle. What would Grant say if 
he could stand on Riverside Drive and view 
the tomb erected in his honor by the Na- 
tion? He'd probably button his long coat, 
gaze at the toes of his cowhide boots, brush 
the cigar ashes from his lapels, pull his 
slouch hat a bit lower over his eyes, and 
say : " I wonder what would have happened 



NEW YORK 



if I had followed out that other plan in the 

siege of Vicksburg ? ' ' 

Beyond Grant's tomb is the district of 
Manhattan ville, which furnishes sites for a 
number of the older residences of Manhattan 
Island. Riverside Drive wanders on by 
Trinity Cemetery, Washington Heights, near 
Fort Washington Point and Fort Washing- 
ton, and ends near the northern stretches of 
the island. Sight-seeing cars and busses on 
the uptown trip will take the visitor along 
Riverside Drive past Grant's Tomb, and, 
when the Atlantic Fleet is in the Hudson, 
will give him a splendid view of some of the 
great battleships of the American Navy at 
anchor in quiet waters. 

THE SOUND OF BELLS 

EW YORK has its evils, just 
as any other city — or vil- 
lage, for that matter. But 
they exist in spite of, and 
not because of New York. 
"What is called New 
York's politics," says Wil- 
liam Joseph Showalter in 
the National Geographic Magazine, "stories 
of graft and the like, are but the froth and, 





foam which fleck the waves of the city's 
life, while beneath runs a deep current of 
progress and public spirit." Industry is one 
thing which commends New York; another 
is its splendid patriotism; and a third is its 
appreciation of art, while its many churches 
bespeak its faith and devoutness. In Man- 
hattan and The Bronx there are between 
800 and 900 churches — some of them small, 
quaint edifices snuggled in out-of-the-way 
streets; others are massive, dignified struc- 
tures on the principal business and residen- 
tial thoroughfares. Naples is famous the 
world over for its churches; but New York 
could furnish two sets of churches to Naples 
and have some left over. Rome is the heart 
of a world of religion; still its churches are 
few in number when compared to those of 
New York City. With the possible excep- 
tion of London, there are more churches in 
Gotham than in any other city. Some of 
them are old and stained with years, others 
are new and have not yet acquired the dig- 
nity which comes with the lapse of years. 

On Sunday morning, when certain per- 
sons in other cities are laboring under the 
delusion that the entire seven or eight 
millions of the people of New York are 

Fifty-Fwe 



NEW YORK 



sleeping soundly after an all-night revel on 
Broadway, the streets near the churches 
are alive with worshipers on their way to 
divine services. Fifth Avenue on a Sunday 
morning is as interesting as the Great 
White Way at the height of its evening's 
triumphs. The roar of the city is subdued, 
although not entirely silenced ; a partial 
sense of peace and quiet, never apparent 
during week days, lies like a white blanket 
over street and avenue. The air is filled 
with the sound of bells, some harsh in tone, 
others silvery; some peal out their message 
with a rumble akin to that of thunder, 
while others resemble the liquid notes of the 
flute. Some sing low, with a throaty sound, 
some in a thin reedy strain like the voice 
of an organ, and others clang-g-g, clang-g-g 
away with right good will. 

The most renowned of the places of 
worship in New York is the "Little Church 
Around the Corner," actually the Episcopal 
Church of the Transfiguration, at Twenty- 
ninth Street, just east of Fifth Avenue. 
About the "Little Church Around the Cor- 
ner" there is swathed a delicate veil of 
romance which sets it apart from other 
churches in New York. There the scent o^ 

Fifty-Six 





orange blossoms mingles with the scent of 
wax white flowers, and the echoes ring with 
the lusty yells of pink-and-white babies as 
they protest the pouring of baptismal 
waters — there the gamut of life is run, and 
run again, in the space of a few short hours. 
Of course, the same is true of other churches ; 
but weddings, christenings, and burials at 
the "Little Church Around the Corner" 
have a personality all their own. It comes 
perhaps from the church, and possibly from 
those who worship there. The name " Little 
Church Around the Corner" was originally 
used as a term of reproach, "because its 
minister read funeral rites even over actors." 
(Edwin Booth, Dion Boucicault, Lester Wal- 
lack, and other great actors were buried 
from the church.) Later the epithet be- 
came a title of distinction, just as the 
English term of derision, "Yankee Doodle," 
was adopted by the Colonial troops in the 
Revolution, and assumed a dignity its origi- 
nators did not imply. 

The Church of St. Marks-in-the-Bou- 
werie, at Second Avenue and Tenth Street, 
is the second oldest church in Manhattan. 
The body of Peter Stuyvesant, early Dutch 
governor of New Amsterdam, the story of 



NEW YORK 



whose wooden leg is familiar to us all, lies 
beneath the foundation of St. Marks. When 
completed, the Protestant Episcopal Cathe- 
dral of St. John the Divine, on Morningside 
Heights, near the beginning of Morningside 
Park and not far from the Hudson, wall be 
the most magnificent cathedral in the New 
World, ranking with St. Peter's at Rome, 
and the structures at Seville and Milan as 
one of the four largest cathedrals in the 
world. St. John's has been many years 
in the building and probablj' will not be 
entirely built for several decades to come. 
Services are now held in the completed part. 
vSt. Patrick's Cathedral, on Fifth Avenue, 
between Fiftieth and Fifty-first Streets, is 
one of the largest Roman Catholic places 
of worship in the country. It was begun 
in 1 85 1 and completed in 1879 at a cost 
of two million dollars. The cathedral, built 
of white marble, has two spires, which, 
rising 332 feet in the air, lend an effective 
touch to its rare Gothic beauty. Oldest of 
the church societies in New York is the 
Dutch Reformed Church, with over 30 units, 
the best known of which is the St. Nicholas 
at Fifth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street. 
The Episcopal Church in New York has 90 1 



churches, the Catholic Church 114, the 
Presbyterian Church 71, the Methodist 
Church 64, and the Baptist Church 50. 
There are also many synagogues in New 
York City, the majority being on Manhattan 
Island. 

WHARVES AND SHIPS 

F ONLY the ghosts of ships 
that have sailed the waters 
of New York Harbor dur- 
ing the past 200 years and 
more could materialize and 
pass before us in silent re- 
view ! The sight, no doubt, 
would surpass mortal un- 
derstanding. It would be more solenm and 
impressive than anything imaginable, unless 
it might be a review of the arinies of the 
dead, which are to spring from their graves 
on Resurrection Day at the blare of Gabriel's 
trumpet and march in mass formation, 
with shrouds a-flutter and bones creaking, 
before the Judgment Seat. In such a review 
of a ghostly fleet we would see ships of 
all descriptions: Fast-sailing clipper ships, 
with clouds of white canvas floating above 

Fifty-Seven 




NEW YORK 




Statue of Liberty 

the decks; British nien-o'-war, with gun- 
ports opened, and the wraiths of sailors with 
tarry pigtails and varnished hats, running 
about the decks; three-decker American 
frigates, manned by specters of Boston, 
Gloucester, and Nantucket men; barks, 
brigs, schooners, brigantines, barkentines, 
innumerable merchant and trading vessels; 
whalers dripping oil at the scuppers; clumsy 
side-wheelers of the early fifties; iron-clad 
monitors with formidable rams and decks 
awash ; and, finally, the battleships of mod- 
ern navies, and the great passenger and 
merchant vessels of to-day. There would 

Fifty-Eight 



be thousands and tens of thousands of 
them — a mightv, ghostly fleet. 

New York has nearly 600 miles of water 
front, and the harbor, one of the finest in 
the world, is larger than that of London or 
Liverpool; and what is more important it 
has comparatively little tide. Sailing into 
the lower bay from the Atlantic Ocean, ships 
sight Sandy Hook to the left. On the right 
is Rockaway Beach, and beyond the beach, 
Rockaway Inlet, which leads to Jamaica 
Bay, and a hodgepodge of bars and marshes. 
West of Rockaway Inlet is Coney Island, 
whose lighthouse stands on Norton Point. 
Across the lower bay from Coney Island is 
the Borough of Richmond. Proceeding 
north through The Narrows, flanked by Fort 
Hamilton, Brooklyn, on the starboard and 
Fort Wadsworth, Richmond, on the port 
the ship reaches the Upper Bay. Taking a 
course north and slightly east the ship nears 
Manhattan Island. West of Robbins Reef 
Light is Kill Van KuU, leading to Newark 
Bay. vSoutheast of the Battery is Bedloe's 
Island, from which rises the Statue of Lib- 
erty. On a clear day it can be seen from 
The Narrows, where warships usually stop 
for a time before proceeding up the bay. 



NEW YORK 



Of course, the Statue of Liberty, or " Libert}- 
Enlightening the World," needs no introduc- 
tion here. It is as much of a national insti- 
tution as the Liberty Bell, the National 
Capitol, the White House, the Washington 
Monument, or Independence Hall. ^Manv 
Americans who sail to foreign countries find 
themselves, before they return, longing for a 
glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. It is a 
welcome sight to the home-hungry citizen. 
And every returning American with a drop 
of hot blood in his veins either cheers the 
gigantic lady or would like to. The statue, 
executed by Bartholdi, was presented to the 
United States by the French nation in com- 
memoration of the hundredth anniversary of 
American Independence. It is the tallest 
figure in the world — 152 feet to the end of 
the torch which Miss Liberty patiently holds 
aloft with her stout bronze arm. Visitors 
are permitted to go up in the statue as far as 
the diadem crowning the head, which, inci- 
dentally, can hold 40 people. 

Governor's Island is east, and Ehis Island 
west of Bedloe's Island. It is Ellis Island 
which has served as a funnel through which 
millions of immigrants have poured on their 
way to the land of promise, since the island 





Immigrant Station (Where Millions Enter America), 
Ellis Island, New York 

was first set aside as a quarantine station. 
The New York Aquarium, on lower Man- 
hattan Island and near the water front, is 
one of the most interesting of the places in 
this section. Built in 1807 for a fort, the 
Aquarium, in 1834, was remodeled into a 

Fifty-Nine 



NEW YORK 




Battery Park, Aquarium, and Statue of Liberty 

popular meeting place; in the same year it 
was the scene of the reception given to 
Lafayette during his second visit to the 
United States. Jenny Lind held her audi- 
ence enthralled with the beauty of her voice 
Sixty 



at the Aqtiarium in 1847; and Kossuth was 
received there during his visit of 1851. 
Four years later, in 1855, the building be- 
came a receiving station for immigrants. 
In the seven years from 1885 to 1892 nearly 
seven million foreigners passed through the 
station, before the city obtained possession 
and turned it into an aquarium. 

Bowling Green Park, where the early 
settlers plaj'ed bowls, stands at the starting 
point of Broadway, near the Battery. A 
leaden statue of King George III, which 
posed in Bowling Green Park before the 
Revolution, was torn down by the patriots 
and molded into bullets, which were re- 
turned to King George's soldiers with a 
great deal of speed, thereby furnishing the 
details for a story that thrilled us all when 
we pored over our grammar school histories. 
At the Battery the visitor finds the fire 
boats, police patrol boats (which scour the 
harbor in search of criminals), the U. S. 
Barge Ofifice, and the Customhouse. A 
splendid way to see New York is to board 
an elevated train at the Battery, taking 
either the east or west routes, and ride 
through the business and tenement districts 
of Manhattan. 



NEW YORK 



Following the Hudson River north from 
the Battery are miles of wharves — on both 
the Manhattan and Jersey sides of the 
stream. Between Thirty-sixth and Thirty- 
ninth Streets the municipal government has 
begun construction of a number of large 
piers for great passenger ships and merchant- 
men. There is still room for scores and even 
hundreds of wharves along the Hudson 
River, and this room, or space, is held as a 
reserve for the time when the growth of the 
port increases the need for more berths. 
Farther north the river passes Riverside Park, 
Washington Heights, and the Ship Canal on 
the east, and the Palisades on the west. Far- 
ther up it passes Yonkers, Albany, Troy, and 
other cities, to its source, near Schenectady. 

Following the East River from the Bat- 
tery, and adjoining the bay just below the 
Battery, are additional miles of wharves, 
almost as numerous as those in the Hudson. 
Between the Manhattan and Williamsburg 
Bridges, near Williamsburg, are the Navy 
Yard and Hospital, adjoining Wallabout 
Channel. Beyond is the Oueensboro Bridge, 
over Blackwell's Island. To the east is 
Long Island City. Park Lighthouse gleams 
at the upper point of Blackwell's Island. 




Lookini! Northeast over the Curve of the Manhattan 
Elevated Railway at One hundred and tenth Street, 
New York. 

Above the point where Harlem River 
and Hell Gate passage meet, is Ward's 
Island. Little Hell Gate, to the north of 
Ward's Island, separates it from Randall's 
Island and Sunken Meadow Lighthouse. 

Sixty-One 



NEW YORK 



Above Hell Gate the East River spreads out 
to several times its width between Manhat- 
tan Island and Brooklyn. Between Bar- 
retto Point, in The Bronx, and Bowery Bay 
rises Rikers Island. North and South 
Brother Islands are west of Rikers Island. 
Farther northeast the East River meets 
Flushing Bay, and flows between Classon 
Point and College Poiat, Old Ferry Point 
and Whitestone Point, Willetts Point and 
Throgs Neck to the waters of Long Island 
Sound, including Pelham Bay and East Ches- 
ter Bay near the Naval Training station. 

Seventy-five or one hundred years ago, 
in the age of sailing craft. New York Harbor 
must have breathed a spirit of romance. 
Some people believe the same is true to-day 
— but that it is a different kind of a ro- 
mance — a romance of another age. Still, a 
glimpse of New York Harbor to-day might 
not lead the stranger to spin romantic senti- 
mentalities. It would not be a subject for 
the pen of a Sir Walter Scott or a Fenimore 
Cooper, though it could possibly furnish 
inspiration for a Homer or a Dante. Per- 
haps, after all, New York Harbor has out- 
grown romance. But the gray, oily waters 
of the bay, the hoarse voices of foghorns, the 

Sixty -Two 




black and brown clouds of smoke arising 
from ships' funnels and from chimneys on 
the surrounding shores; the great ocean 
leviathans steaming up from The Narrows; 
the nervous out-put of launches; the ringing 
of bells on the ferryboats; the grimy barges 
which creep like turtles over the ruffled 
waters; the spumy whitecaps stirred by the 
salty breeze; and sometimes the fog which 
reaches out wet fingers to enshroud the 
harbor, may have something of romance 
about them. It is contended that no people 
are able to see romance in their own cen- 
tury. They say that the steel armor caused 
the' knights of old to perspire (and swear) 
prodigiously; that lack of plumbing in 
medieval castles caused discontent among 
the tenants; and that the Forty-niners 
chewed tobacco and carelessly wiped their 
noses on their sleeves, thus rendering it im- 
possible for their fellows to see any romance 
in their lives. A similar feeling, introduced 
of course by other causes, may make it im- 
possible for New Yorkers of the present 
generation to see romance in their city. 
However, by the year 2000 A. D., and after, 
Americans may view our modern institu- 
tions — among them the present-day New 



NEW YORK 



York Harbor — with the same kind of rever- 
ence in which we hold the institutions of 
50 years — or several thousand years — ago. 
And, very possibly, we are missing something 
by taking the epic wonders of New York 
Harbor for granted, because this abiding 
place of ships, surely, has features that 
would overshadow those of ancient Rome 
and Athens, were Rome and Athens no 
older than New York. 

ARTERIES OF TRAVEL 

IN ANY city the size of 
Gotham, or anywhere near 
the size of the American 
metropolis, the question of 
transportation is one of 
prime importance. To un- 
derstand the seriousness of 
the transportation prob- 
lems in New York it is only necessary to 
point out that twice as many people ride on 
subway, surface, and elevated cars and trains 
in Greater New York than are transported 
on the same day by all the steam railroads 
in the remainder of the country. Over two 
billion people ride on surface, elevated, and 
subway lines in Gotham every year, and still, 






the demand for more extensive transporta- 
tion facilities continues to grow. If Man- 
hattan were not hemmed in by the Hudson 
and East Rivers, and if the business and 
financial districts were not huddled together 
in such a restricted area, New York's trans- 
portation problems would not be so serious; 
but with matters as they are the congestion 
of traffic in all parts of the city, at nearly 
all hours of the day, furnishes a problem 
that would require the wisdom of a hundred 
Solomons and the patience of a thousand 
Jobs to solve. 

The principal terminal stations, which 
receive and discharge human cargoes num- 
bering millions of individuals every day, are 
as follows : The Grand Central, the Pennsyl- 
vania, the Erie, the West Shore, the Lacka- 
wanna, and the Central Railroad of New 
Jersey. Besides these, there are the innu- 
merable stops and stations of the subway, 
surface, and elevated lines. 

The Grand Central, at Park Avenue and 
Forty-second Street, is the terminal for the 
New York Central and Hudson River Lines 
for Yonkers, Ossining, Peekskill, Albany, 
Buffalo, and other localities in New York 
State ; the Harlem division of the New York 

Sixty- Three 



NEW YORK 



Central Hudson River Railroad for Mount 
Vernon, White Plains, and other points 
north ; the New York, New Haven & Hart- 
ford Railroad for all points in New England; 
and the Michigan Central for Chicago. The 
Grand Central can be reached easily by way 
of the East Side subwa}'. 

Two entire blocks, from Seventh Avenue 
to Eighth Avenue and from Thirty-first 
Street to Thirty-third Street, are occupied 
by the Pennsylvania Station building. The 
underlying and adjoining yards increase the 
total area of the station to six city blocks. 
The Pennsylvania Station is the terminal for 
the Pennsylvania Railroad trains for Phila- 
delphia, Wilmington, Baltimore, Washing- 
ton, and other points south and west of New 
York; also Boston and down East points. 
After the Government took over the rail- 
roads during the war, the Pennsylvania Sta- 
tion was made the terminal for the Baltimore 
and Ohio train running to and from the 
south; and also the terminal for the Lehigh 
Valley and Long Island trains. The West 
Side subway will carry the traveler directly 
to the Pennsylvania Station. 

The Erie Terminal Station at Pavinia 
Avenue, Jersey City, is reached by ferries,, ._ 

Sixty-Four 



also by Hudson tube from West Twenty- 
third Street or Chambers Street, New York. 
It is the terminal for the New York, Susque- 
hanna & Western Railroad for suburban 
stations in New Jersey; the New York & 
New Jersey Railroad for stations in northern 
New Jersey; the Erie Railroad for stations 
in northern New Jersey, southwestern New 
York State, and Buffalo; and the Northern 
Railroad of New Jersey for suburban points 
in New Jersey and in Rockland County, 
New York State. 

The West Shore Terminal Station, on 
the Jersey side of the Hudson River at 
Weehawken, nearly opposite Fiftieth Street, 
is reached by ferries from Cortlandt Street 
or West Forty-second Street. This sta- 
tion is the terminal for the West Shore 
Railroad for stations on the west bank of 
the Hudson River and the Catskill Moun- 
tains ; and the New York, Ontario & Western 
Railroad for stations in central New York 
State. 

The Lackawanna Terminal in Hoboken 
is reached by ferries from Christopher, Bar- 
clay, and West Twenty-third Streets, or 
the Hudson River tunnels. It is the ter- 
minal of the Delaware, Lackawanna & 



NEW YORK 



Western Railroad for stations in northern 
New Jersey, northern Pennsylvania, and 
southern New York State. 

In the Communipaw section, south of 
the Pennsylvania terminal in Jersey City, 
is the terminal of the Central Railroad of 
New Jersey. It is reached by ferries from 
Liberty Street and West Twenty-third 
Street. This station is the teiminal for 
trains running to central and southern New 
Jersey and the New Jersey coast — Long 
Branch, Atlantic Highlands, Asbury Park, 
and other localities. In addition, it is the 
terminal for the Philadelphia & Reading 
line to Philadelphia. 

Hudson tunnels of the Hudson & Man- 
hattan Railroad Company, 30 Church Street, 
connect New Jersey and Manhattan via two 
sets of tunnels. The Hudson Terminal 
Building, entrance on Cortlandt, Dey, and 
Fulton Streets, west of Church Street, is the 
lower New York terminal for the tubes, 
which are practically a terminal for the 
Erie, Delaware, Lackawanna, Western, and 
Pennsylvania lines. The ferryhouses at 
East Thirty-fourth, West Twenty-third, 
West Forty-second, Desbrosses, Chambers, 
Cortlandt, and Liberty Streets are terminals 




for the various railroads of which they are 
a part. 

Local steamboat lines, with landings, are 
as follows: Central Hudson Line, Pier 24, 
North River; Central Railroad steamers. 
Forty-second Street Pier and Cedar Street; 
Catskill Night Line, Pier 43, North River; 
Albany Night Line, known as "Peoples' 
Line," foot of Canal Street, North River, 
and West One hundred and thirty-second 
Street ; Albany Day Line, Desbrosses, Forty- 
second and One hundred and twenty-ninth 
Streets and North River; Bay vState Line, 
Pier 19, East River; Bridgeport Line, Pier 
27, East River; Colonial Line, Pier 39, 
North River; Coney Island, Pier i. North 
River; Fall River Line, Pier 14, North 
River; Hartford Line, Pier 19, East River; 
New Haven Line, Pier 28, East River; 
Norwich and New Bedford Line, Pier 40, 
North River; Troy Line, known as "Citizens' 
Line," Pier 32, North River; Providence 
Line, Pier 15, North River. 

Among the principal subway stations 
are the following: WEST Side — Battery, 
Wall Street, Fulton Street, Brooklyn Bridge, 
Fourteenth Street, Twenty-third Street, 
Pennsylvania Station (Thirty -fourth Street) , 

Sixty-Five 



NEW YORK 



Forty-second Street (Times Square) , Fiftieth 
Street, Fifty-ninth Street, Ninety-sixth 
Street, One hundred and third Street, One 
hundred and sixteenth Street, One hundred 
and twenty-eighth Street, Dykeman Street, 
Van Cortlandt Park; and East Side — 
Forty-second Street, Fiftieth Street, and 
Fifty-ninth Street. Brooklyn — Borough 
Hall, Fulton Street, Atlantic Avenue, Clark, 
and DeKalb. 

THEATER AND OPERA 

EW YORK is the paradise 
of actors. Thousands of 
them live in Gotham, while 
thousands in other parts 
of the country look to New 
York as the ultimate goal 
which they at sometime 
hope to attain. To have 
his or her name blazing on Broadway, 
means to the actor or actress that ambition 
has been satisfied; all other successes — in 
comparison — are of little importance. The 
feeling of an actor who plays on Broadway is 
something akin to that of a member of a 
gun crew when his division makes a perfect 
score in target practice. He is content;] 

Sixty-Six 





he has reached the heights of endeavor 
in his profession; he is one to be envied 

among his fellows. New York is not only 
a Mecca for actors, it is also a city of theater 
goers. And the public of Gotham has be- 
come so critical and discriminating in its 
theatrical tastes that the poor mummer 
without "something new," "something dif- 
ferent," soon finds himself playing in ob- 
scure theaters or making one-night stands 
in the rural districts. 

Whether it be in comedy, drama, musi- 
cal comedy, revue, or any other of the 
varieties of theatrical presentations, New 
York leads all other cities of the United 
States. If a show presented in Washing- 
ton, Philadelphia, New Haven, or other 
Eastern cities is successful, it usually pro- 
) ceeds immediately to New York, where 
the cast endeavors to entertain the blase 
first-nighters; then waits with tense nerves 
for the decision of the critics in the morn- 
ing newspapers. A dull, uninteresting pro- 
duction rarely remains on Broadway for 
more than a week or two, and hardly 
longer than that in any part of the theatrical 
district. So the visitor who goes to a play 
which has succeeded on Broadway is almost 



NEW YORK 



sure to be entertained; for, like wheat, it 
has been sifted from the chaff, and has 
proven itself worthv of residence on the 
Great White Way. 

For years New York led all American 
cities in grand opera, and still does during 
the height of the winter season. Since the 
death of the impresario, Hammerstein, 
Gotham music lovers have had to be con- 
tent with less grand opera; but even now 
grand opera in the metropolis is presented 
often enough to satisfy all except the most 
avid and habitual opera goers. The Metro- 
politan Opera House is two blocks below 
Times Square, in the rear of the theatrical 
district. It covers an entire block, and has 
seating space for over 3,000 persons. Prob- 
ably more famous singers have appeared at 
the Metropolitan than at any other opera 
house in the world, excepting, perhaps, one 
or two in Italy, the birthplace of grand opera. 

Century Theater, Central Park West, one 
of the largest playhouses in New York, seats 
nearly 3,000 persons. The gigantic Hippo- 
drome is a popular New York theater; 
Keith's Palace, one of the best of the vaude- 
ville houses. The Strand, Capitol, Rialto, 1 








Metropolitan Opera House, Broadway, New York 

and Rivoli are noted for their motion picture 
productions. 

There are so many theaters in the theat- 
rical district in New York alone that no ade- 
quate listing can be undertaken. Within 
two or three blocks of Times Square, for ex- 
ample, there are 50 excellent theaters, most 
of them presenting productions in which na- 
tionally known actors and actresses play 
leading parts. Theatrical guides are obtain- 
able at the hotels, and the Metropolitan 

Sixty-Seven 



NEW YORK 



Guide also contains the current theatrical 
offerings. It is the custom at the Public 
Ser\nce Ticket Office, corner of Broadway 
and Forty-third Street, to sell theater tickets 
at half-price to men in uniform. The Navy 
Club, on East Forty-first Street, is another 
place to obtain information and tickets. 

MIDAS & CO., INC. 

NCE upon a time, so the an- 
cient legend runs, there 
lived a Phrygian king, 
named Midas, son of Gor- 
dius and Cybele. Gordius 
became famous when he 
cut the "Gordian Knot," 
while Cybele was fair to 
look upon, one of the most beautiful of the 
Phrygian women. It came to pass that 
Midas performed a great ser\ace for Diony- 
sus, a god of the ancients. He captured 
Solenus, and then, out of kindness, returned 
him to Dionysus. The god appreciated the 
ser\dce rendered "unto" him by Midas, and 
asked what favor could be given. Midas 
prayed that everything he touched should 
be turned to gold. Dionysus graciously an- 
swered the prayer, and favored Midas, whq 

Sixty-Eight 





thereupon proceeded to profit by his good 
fortune. Everything he laid his hands upon 
immediately turned to solid gold. Midas 
became a man of fabulous wealth. 

It's a far cry from ancient Phrygia to 
modern New York, and from Midas to the 
bankers and brokers of Wall Street; but the 
similarity of their positions as far as wealth 
is concerned offers an excuse for the retelling 
of the ancient legend and its reapplication to 
Wall Street. It also goes to show the lack of 
imagination among the story-tellers who 
lived in Ovid's day. All the wealth of Midas 
was but a drop in the proverbial bucket 
compared to the wealth represented in Wall 
Street. It is said that even the puny story 
of Midas strained the imaginations of olden 
story-tellers. If some ancient mystic had 
gazed in the crystal glass, looked down 
through the centuries to the present, viewed 
Wall Street, and told his fellow Phrygians of 
what he had seen, they would probably have 
hanged him for a liar. It only goes to show 
how modern facts have outdistanced ancient 
fancies. 

The financial district of New York City 
is the gigantic successor of the rather insig- 
nificant concern of Midas & Co. (incorporated 



NEW YORK 



under the laws of ancient Phrygia). Of 
course, the similarity ends at a certain 
point. Wall Street never depended on the 
gods for wealth. It depended on its own 
intelligence and native ability. And, to 
conclude, Wall Street probably never heard 
of Phrvgia, and might find it difficult to 
place ]\Iidas himself. Then, too, the "Golden 
Touch," which eventually became too much 
for Midas, especially when he handled food, 
seems never to have affected our Wall Street 
bankers. 

Wall Street is not a very imposing thor- 
oughfare. It is short, narrow, and a bit 
dust}-. The pavement and sidewalks are 
sometimes grimy in places, where the street 
cleaners have overlooked small heaps of dirt. 
In summer it is hot, very hot; and in winter 
Wall Street is miserably cold, and it snows 
there just as it does on the Lower East Side 
or over in Brooklyn. And Wall Street isn't 
paved with gold, as some European immi- 
grants have been led to believe. They hold 
the opinion down in Wall Street that asphalt 
wears better, and so asphalt "it is." Wall 
Street isn't even dignified during business 
hours. Millionaires and multimillionaires 
rush around Hke their clerks; and betweeui 




Wall Street — Wt^t past V S Siihtrt iMir\, to Jriiiii\ 
Cliurili, Nlw ^ork 

times the)^ sit in upholstered chairs with 
their feet under polished mahogany desks. 
However, "between times" are not as fre- 
quent in Wall Street as most people believe. 
Nearly every one in Wall Street works, and 

Sixty-Nine 



NEW YORK 




The Old Si. I>;.i.Is Church, St. Paul Building, and 
Park Row Building, New York 

works liard, from office boy to the man of 
wealth. Its a revelation to see a frenzied 
millionaire, with choleric countenance and 
collar wilted, rush up and down the floor of 
the exchange, his throat filled with curse^ 

Seventy 



and his hands filled with sheets of paper. 
The floor on which he walks is covered with 
bits of torn paper. Villon might say they 
resemble feathers from the backs of plucked 
geese. 

Not only is American business controlled 
by Wall Street, but, since the beginning of 
the World War in 19 14, the financial center 
of the world has shifted from London to 
New York. The dollar has triumphed over 
the pound sterling, the franc, the lire and 
the mark. It was through Wall Street that 
many of the loans to foreign countries were 
negotiated — the loans that helped the Allies 
to stave off the German onrush until the 
United States determined the final outcome 
of the war by entering it. Wall Street is 
not only the headquarters of finance, but it 
also controls transportation in this country. 
Political as well as economic history is 
written daily behind closed doors in this 
"short, narrow, dusty street" in the heart 
of Gotham. 

The New York Stock Exchange was 
founded in 1792 by a number of brokers, 
who gathered under a buttonwood tree at 
70 Wall Street and formed the organization 
whose present power, very probably, would 



NEW YORK 



be almost incomprehensible to them were 
they to return. The present site of the 
Stock Exchange around the comer of Broad 
Street was purchased in 1883, and the pres- 
ent building completed in 1903. Transac 
tions are made between 10 o'clock in the 
morning and 3 o'clock in the afternoon 
Tens of thousands of dollars are spent for 
seats in the Exchange — when they are to be 
had at all — and only members of the Ex 
change are allowed "on the floor." 

The United States Subtreasury, a foun 
dation stone in the financial structure of the 
Nation, is on Wall Street, at the head of 
Broad Street, a block from Broadway. It 
stands on the site of the old Dutch Town 
Hall, torn down to make way for the Fed 
eral buildings which were in use when Wash 
ington was inaugurated. A stone slab in 
the main corridor of the Subtreasury indi 
cates the spot where Washington stood when 
he took his oath of office as first President 
of the United States of America. A heroic- 
sized statue of Washington standing in front 
of the Subtreasury was the scene of numer- 
ous meetings during the historic Liberty 
Loan drives held there after the United 
States entered the World War. Hundreds of 





Broad Street 

millions of dollars were subscribed to help 
finance the machinery of war, and many of 
the foremost citizens of the Nation stood 
before the mighty statue of the first Presi- 
dent and spoke to assembled thousands in 

Seventy-One 



NEW YORK 





935813 nnH ml 

3 a 3 I III U 9 U Hit 
I 3 MIUIUIU iiii 

u a i uiLlJ-"tHiJ 



Plaza Hotel, New York 

behalf of the Liberty and A^ictory loans. 
More gold and silver is stored in the Sub- 
treasury building than anywhere else in the 
country, except in the Treasury in Wash- 
ington. The bullion is kept in huge vaults, 
guarded so closely that the most cleveij 

Seventy- Two 




"master mind" among the criminals of two 
continents have never been able to boast to 
their fellow cracksmen that they have stolen 
bullion from the Subtreasury in Wall Street. 

The banking house of J. P. Morgan & Co. 
is at the comer of Broad and Wall Streets, 
opposite the Subtreasury, and on the south 
side of the latter street. It was the com- 
pany which negotiated many loans for the 
British during the war, and, financially 
speaking, helped to throw about the Ger- 
man armies that iron ring which was to 
bring about the strangulation of the German 
Empire. 

One of the principal features of Wall 
Street district is the curb market on Broad 
Street, where from lo in the morning until 
4 in the afternoon the visitor may see 
strange and unusual sights, more reminis- 
cent of the violent ward in Bellevue Hos- 
pital than of the financial center of the 
world. Frantic brokers and their clerks, 
hatless and coatless (and mannerless), stand 
on the curb and in the middle of the street 
where they signal in "deaf and dumb" 
language to their coworkers in windows 
above. A flip of a thumb or a tangling of 
fingers means the sale or purchase of stock 



NEW YORK 



which may ultimately result in the making 
of a millionaire or perhaps a pauper. There 
is more adventure of a kind to be had in a 
morning on the curb market than the traveler 
would find in the depths of Africa or India or 
the jungles of Ceylon, or in any of the outposts 
of civilization. But the traders do not see 
adventure in it. To them it is a part of 
business, a part of life. (It is just a phase 
of the operations of JMidas & Co., Inc.) 

THE PARKS, HOTELS 

|HE stranger in New York 
would imagine at first that 
the city has no room for 
parks; that ground is too 
valuable; that every foot 
of space must be given over 
to buildings or to thorough- 
fares in this crammed and 
crowded metropolis. Imagine his surprise, 
then, when he sees park squares in the down- 
town districts, occupying ground worth 
tens of millions of dollars as building sites; 
Central Park, holding precious square miles 
of territory, whose value is priceless; Mom- 
ingside Park, Alount j\Iorris, and other parks 





i 


1 





in JManhattan; \'an Cortlandt, Crotona.Clare- 
mont, St. Mary's, Bronx, and other parks in 
The Bronx; and Williamsburg, Fort Greene, 
Winthrop, and other parks in Brooklyn. 

Let the critic who accuses New York of 
being entirely commercial and cold-blooded 
look at her parks, whose existence by comi- 
mon consent of the people shows something 
of a spirit of sacrifice as far as personal com- 
fort and convenience are concerned, which 
might not be shown in other cities were they 
so desperately in need of roona as New York 

Seventy-Three 



NEW YORK 




Metropolitan Museum of Art 

City. And, incidentally, let the critic look 
to the cemeteries of New York. From St. 
Paul's Graveyard in Manhattan to Wood- 
lawn Cemetery, near Van Cortlandt Park, 
the dead lie unmolested by land-greedy in- 
truders. There have been cases where other 
cities have ousted the dead from their 
graves to give the living more elbow room. 
The same can not be true of New York. 
Such a city can not be "entirely commercial 
and cold-blooded." 

Central Park, the best known of all parks 
in New York City , extends along Fifth Avenue 
for a distance of two and one-half miles — ■ 
from Fifty-ninth Street on the south to, 

Seventy-Four 




One hundred and tenth Street on the north. 
It contains 879 acres, over which wind 9 
miles of roads, 5 miles of bridle paths, and 
28 miles of walks. Nearly half of Central 
Park is covered with trees and shrubs, 
among them specimens typical of many 
countries and climates. There are several 
lakes in the park, and the Croton Reservoir, 
which at one time was the principal storage 
place of New York's water supply. In 
summer there is boating and in winter skating 
on the artificial lakes in Central Park. In 
addition, there are open spaces for tennis 
and baseball. Among the other features of 
Central Park are quaint bridges and arch- 
ways, many statues of "men whose names 
have lived after them," playgrounds, and 
the Egyptian Obelisk, a sister of Cleopatra's 
Needle in Tondon. Probably the most 
lively and altogether fascinating part of 
Central Park is the Zoological Garden, where 
most of the animals, birds, and reptiles we 
have heard about, and many we never sus- 
pected were in existence, live — and walk or 
run — fly or crawl — respectively. 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, at 
Eighty-first Street and Fifth Avenue, in Cen- 
tral Park, is the most important institution 



NEW YORK 



of its kind in the United States, and one of 
the largest of its kind in the world. Eng- 
lish, Italian, Flemish, Dutch, French, and 
American masters are represented in the 
art gallery, and several rooms are hung 
with pictures of the modern schools, both 
American and foreign. The Benjamin Alt- 
man collection, one of several willed to the 
Museum by wealthy Americans, is valued at 
fifteen millions of dollars. 

Some of the more exquisite and masterly 
pictures and statuary in the Museum are in 
the following list: Madonna Colonna, Ra- 
phael; Portrait of George Washington, Gil- 
bert Stuart; The Horse Fair, Rosa Bonheur; 
the Holy Family, Paul Rubens; Girl with a 
Cat, Gainsborough; Retreat from Moscow, 
Gustave Dore; Ariadne in Naxos, Watts; 
Autumn Oaks, Inness; Ville D'Avray; The 
Mills, Rembrandt; Portrait of Lady Crewe, 
Sir Joshua Reynolds; Etruscan Bronze Char- 
iot of the sixth century B. C. ; Family, first 
century B.C.; and Statue of a Prince of the 
Hulio Claudian, also of the first century B. C. 

Principal among the parks of The Bronx 
is the one bearing the name of the borough — 
Bronx Park. It comprises over 700 acres. 






Italian Gardens at Entrance to Bronx Park 

of land and lies on both sides of the Bronx 
River, which wanders down that way from 
the direction of Wakefield Park. The 
Bronx Zoological Garden, containing the 
largest collection of animals in the world; 
the Botanical Gardens, covering 250 acres 
in the northern section of the park; and the 
large glacial boulder, are the main attrac- 
tions. Either subway will take the visitor 
to the Bronx Park. 

To add another superlative to the appall- 
ing list which has preceded it. New York's 

Seventy-Five 



NEW YORK 




Columbia University, Library 

hotel system is the greatest in the world. It 
could hardly be otherwise, with tens and 
hundreds of thousands of travelers entering 
and leaving the city every day. The prob- 
lem of housing its visitors is being met by 
New York with the same spirit which has 
typified its fight for progress and improve-) 

Seventy-Six 



ment in other matters, such as in the case of 
bridges, subways, and water supply. The 
visitor has little difficulty in selecting a 
hotel in any part of the city, from the 
expensive hotels (Pennsylvania, Astor, 
Biltmore, Vanderbilt, Commodore, Knick- 
erbocker, Plaza, and Waldorf-Astoria) to 
hotels where prices are not as high. Among 
the hotels charging popular prices are the 
Mills, the Breslin, and the Grand. Addi- 
tional information concerning hotels may be 
obtained at the Sands Street Y. M. C. A. in 
Brooklyn, or the Association on Twenty- 
third Street, near Sixth Avenue, Manhattan. 

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM 

N EVERY stream, whether 
it be of water or of words, 
there are bayous, and 
branches, and whatnot, 
where water (or words) 
are separated from the 
main flow of the current 
or the narrative and 
wasted, unless returned in one way or an- 
other to the "river." It is true of the 
Mississippi, the Seine, the Thames, the 




Tnrrrp-^nTrrtr^" n r iiiMiii urn 










CONEY ISLAND— THE BEACH 



Seventy-Seven 




CONEY ISLAND 



Seventy-Eight 



NEW YORK 



Ganges, and innumerable other rivers. It 
is true of most narratives, however desper- 
ately the writer may strive to avoid it, and 
it is true of this tale of New York. And 
requesting the reader's indulgence, the 
writer will now proceed to bale a number of 
words, sentences, and paragraphs into the 
main stream of the narrative, so that the 
reader, if he desires, may float still further 
down the river (and let us hope he finds 
the scenery interesting). 

Coney Island, and Brighton Beach! 
Could New York be New York without 
these two? Possibly, but it would be a 
sadly altered and chastened New York. 
Without them Gotham would be as 
strangely unnatural as Naples without its 
famous sky or the Rocky Mountains with- 
out its peaks. Hundreds of thousands of 
New Yorkers and visitors in Gotham repair 
to Coney Island on Sundays and holidays to 
dip in the surf, and sun themselves on the 
beach, and fill their lungs with the tang of 
salt air. Coney Island has bathing houses, 
restaurants, hotels, and various amusement 
facilities always identified with places of the 
sort, such as roller coasters, photograph and 
shooting galleries, merry-go-rounds, anc^ 




museums. The two amusement parks are 
"Luna Park" and "Steeplechase." 

Coney Island proper, including West 
Brighton, is the oldest and most popular 
part of the entire series of beaches popularly 
known as Coney Island. Steamboats, trol- 
ley cars, and sight-seeing busses, with stands 
on Broadway, make trips to Coney Island 
at various hours of the day. Probably the 
most convenient route from down town is by 
the Broadway subway. The Sands Street 
station is a stopping place for elevated 
trains going to Coney Island and Brighton 
Beach. 

The Hall of Fame. — A number of miles 
from Coney Island as far as actual distance 
is concerned, and several universes from it 
in spirit, is the Hall of Fame, on the grounds 
of New York University. The Hall of 
Fame, a semicircular colonnade, 500 feet 
long, contains 150 panels, some of them 
occupied by bronze tablets bearing the 
names of famous Americans, others not yet 
assigned to the persons whose memory they 
will help to perpetuate. Five names will be 
added every 50 years to those already in the 
Hall of Fame, until the year 2000 A. D., 
when the roll of 150 will be completed, at 

Seventy-Nine 



NEW YORK 




College of the City of New York 

which time the Hall must cither be enlarged 
or a new one erected. It will be a bother- 
some question, without doubt, but there is 
some consolation in knowing that none of 
us now living will have to worry about it. 

Columbia University. — It is the largest 
institution of its kind in the United States, 
founded during the reign of King George II 
and "perpetuated as Columbia University 
by the people of the State of New York." 
The library and principal lecture hall of 

Eighty 




Columbia stand in a square bounded by 
Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue and One 
hundred and sixteenth and One hundred and 
twentieth Streets. 

College of the City of New York. — One of 
the features of this college is the stadium, 
with a seating capacity of 5,000. It was 
given to the college by Adolph Lewisohn. 
At intervals the stadium is the scene of 
civic and community functions and games 
and athletic contests. At Convent Avenue 
and One hundred and forty-first Street there 
stood the home of Alexander Hamilton at 
the time he was shot and killed in his duel 
with Aaron Burr. 

The Polo Grounds. — Home of the 
"Yankees" and the "Giants," the Polo 
Grounds at One hundred and fifty-seventh 
Street and Eighth Avenue, are the scene of 
innumerable games between pennant con- 
tenders in the American and National 
Leagues. It is here that the mighty and 
muscular "Babe" Ruth, known in Amer- 
icanese as "The Battering Behemoth" and 
"The King of Swat," wrinkled many a 
pitcher's brow by running up a record list 
of home runs in 1920. After the close of the 
baseball season the Polo Grounds are usually 



NEW YORK 



deserted until the beginning of another sea- 
son, except at times when football teams 
representing universities and colleges meet 
on the field to decide the merits of their 
respective elevens. 

The Poe Cottage. — With their usual irrev- 
erence for the memories of American authors 
and poets, the American people have per- 
mitted the home of Edgar Allan Poe, at 
Kingsbridge Road and One hundred and 
ninety-second Street, to be turned into a 
dentist's office. Where that genius of 
geniuses wrote "The Raven" and the fan- 
tastically beautiful "Annabel Lee" — 
" It was many and many a year ago, 

In a Kingdom by the sea, 

That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee: 

And this maiden lived with no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me" 

— an efficient dentist now pulls and fills the 
teeth of his victims. Possibly it is fortunate 
that the homes of so many other immortals 
are in foreign countries, where they can 
receive their just amount of reverent atten- 
tion. If Shakespeare's cottage were on this 
side of the Atlantic Ocean it would prob- 
ably be a garage by now; the homes of 
Sir Walter Scott, Robert lyouis Stevenson, 





Edgar Allen Poe Cottage, Fordham 

and Robert Burns would probably be barber 
shops or lunch rooms; the Parthenon, the 
Coliseum, and other revered structures of 
an ancient civilization would probably be 
now used as cow stables; the Alhambra 
might be a dance hall; Goethe's home, a 
secondhand store; Dante's home, part of an 
ex-brewery, and so on down the list. Edgar 
Allan Poe ! In the public's opinion he must 
be so obscure a person that in this day of 
prosperity there is none so poor as to do him 
reverence. 

Eighty-One 



NEW YORK 



With this tirade the narrative ends. The 
preceding pages have given the reader a 
gHmpse of New York from the bay to the 
Hudson and the East River; from Man- 
hattan to The Bronx, Brooklyn, and Harlem. 
It has taken him from the tops of sky- 
scrapers to the tunnels and tubes which 
thread the earth beneath the asphalt, and 
it has given him a rather kaleidoscopic 



glimpse of life in the American metropolis. 
To go into the subject of New York in 
detail would require a library of heavy 
volumes. So, having no more than skimmed 
over the surface of the material available, 
the writer will plague the reader no longer, 
and will leave him to enjoy a tour of New 
York, whether it be a visit in fact or only 
in fancy. 



Eighty- Two 



WASHINGTON : GOVEKNMBNT PRINTING OFFICE : 1920 



NEW YORK 



MEMORANDUM 

These blank pages should be used to note items of interest to which you will want to refer 



Eighty- Three 



NEW YORK 



MEMORANDUM 



Eighty-Four 



NEW YORK 



MEMORANDUM 



Eighty-Five 



3477-125 



^'•^Wf' 



MAP OF THE CITY 

NEW YORK 




I 



^■-Siii^^w 




